<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>One of these Days by jackiedupre</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431209">One of these Days</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiedupre/pseuds/jackiedupre'>jackiedupre</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gone With the Wind - All Media Types, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, I don't know why I wrote this, some violence but I'll warn you on a chapter by chapter basis and provide recaps at the end</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:53:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiedupre/pseuds/jackiedupre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After her mother's death, Scarlett became head of the family. Supporting her two sisters, addled father and ward isn't easy, but neither are the Hunger Games...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ashley Wilkes/Melanie Wilkes, Rhett Butler/Scarlett O'Hara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Two Pennies to Rub Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Scarlett had to listen to one more minute of Mrs. Tarleton’s inane blathering, she’d go crazy. She weighed the money and her sanity, but there was no question. The Tarletons were constantly getting sick--like everyone in District Eleven--and the O’Hara’s couldn’t afford to lose the business.</p><p>“Here you are, Mrs. Tarleton,” she said with a strained smile, sliding the medicine over the counter. “That’ll be three dollars.” Scarlett deliberately kept prices on the lower side, but one look at Mrs. Tarleton’s face told her it was too expensive.</p><p>“Scarlett, dearie, could you possibly lower it, just by a dollar? We’d owe you.”</p><p>You’d owe me a dollar, she thought. But she needed the consistent trickle of the Tarletons and their friends. “Well…” she said, curling a lock of black hair around her finger, “I have been craving that casserole you made last year.”</p><p>Mrs. Tarleton beamed. “I’ll bring some to you tomorrow.” As an afterthought, the older woman added, “For the celebration.”</p><p>“Thank you, ma’am.”</p><p>Scarlett completed the transaction and stuck the meager wages in her apron. Even with the promise of something rich and hearty to eat, something that could stretch a week if she was smart about it, she wished for just a few pennies more. That Dr. Meade and his new practice was taking everything from her. Last year, everything had been so simple. She’d worried about her dresses, her looks, and Ashley Wilkes, not tesserae and the possibility of starvation.</p><p>At the thought of Ashley, a blush bloomed on her cheeks. She rarely saw him. Ever since he’d left school--was it only two years ago? It felt like eons--they hadn’t attended the rare parties, hadn’t climbed trees or picked fruit with their classmates that weren’t from town. They’d been the best of friends then.</p><p>Scarlett pushed thoughts of Ashley out of her mind. She cleaned up and checked over the books, noting with satisfaction that her numbers were going up, just a little bit. Not enough by any means, she’d still have to take out tesserae until she turned eighteen, but Suellen might not be so unlucky.</p><p>She made a note to visit with the mayor’s assistant the day after tomorrow to apply for next year’s supply of grain and oil. Scarlett cringed at the sight of her hands. The coldest March anyone could remember meant the chilblains from winter hadn’t faded completely, her fingertips were red and callused, and her nails had never been so scraggly.<br/>
Scarlett made a mental note to wear gloves at the reaping. The reaping...Ellen had died just a few weeks before last year’s grim celebration. Instead of being worried about the result, Scarlett had fretted about their appearances, about Pa’s conduct.</p><p>Tomorrow would be another performance, and she needed a dress. Over the past week, Suellen and Carreen had modified old dresses, which left Scarlett to make her own. Oh, if only they hadn’t had to fire Ruth. Ruth would’ve made something beautiful.</p><p>Scarlett closed up the apothecary after it became clear no one else planned on visiting. The reaping was spoiling all her business, she thought as she pulled out the half-finished green velvet dress. If she worked on it practically through the night with Suellen’s help, she could finish it in time.</p><p>She went upstairs, noting that each and every step creaked. Another repair job. Just like the roof, the walls, the chimney. Scarlett squared her shoulders before unlocking the door and stepping inside her home.</p><p>When she’d been a very small child, the apothecary--Tara, her father called it--had been white and clean, and the home had matched. Simple lines, soft colors, and the soothing presence of Mother.</p><p>Now, Carreen and Suellen could barely keep it clean, much less neat. Scarlett had made the decision that they’d both stay in school, even if she attended but once every few weeks, but poor Carreen ended up completing Scarlett’s neglected schoolwork as well as her own. Suellen had stepped into Ruth’s role as cook, but only the threat of starvation could make Scarlett eat her food. Pa had been no use at all. And Wade…</p><p>The thought of Ashley’s little nephew made her temper flare. Back when the Wilkes family had been nearly destitute, without two pennies to rub together, Ashley’s father had begged Ellen to take his nephew’s orphaned child. Ellen had accepted the two-week-old baby without argument, and even after Ashley won the Games Wade had stayed on.</p><p>Wade followed Scarlett around the store every morning. “Mama” this and “Mama” that. She was sick and tired of it, but what would Ashley say if she showed up at his doorstep with a three-year-old child and demanded Ashley take him?</p><p>Scarlett flung the door open to find Carreen, brow furrowed, working out a math problem meant for students three years older than she. Wade clung to her skirt, babbling about God knew what, and Suellen steadfastly ignored Pa’s loud blathering, focusing on the final alterations to her dress. The dye had turned out well, but even a new color couldn’t make Ellen’s old dress fashionable.</p><p>“Mama!” Wade cried. Scarlett glared at him. It had been a slow day and she hadn’t the slightest patience for her ward’s antics. “Sue, where’s the soup you made yesterday?” she called, rifling through the cabinets she could reach. Empty, all of them.</p><p>“It’s on the top left.”</p><p>Scarlett dragged a chair over--her height had always been a sore spot, especially since her younger sister was a good three inches taller--and pulled down the meager cupful. “Did Wade eat?”</p><p>Carreen wrung her hands. “He wouldn’t. And...and Pa spilled his, so we gave Wade’s to Pa since he didn’t want it.”</p><p>It took every ounce of her self-control not to slap Carreen across the face. Instead, she lifted the little boy into her lap, shoved a spoon in his hand, and commanded him to eat.</p><p>“Katie Scarlett, you must be more gentle with your boy,” Gerald admonished her. “Ask Mrs. O’Hara if you don't believe me.”</p><p>“Of course,” she said mechanically. Pa seemed to think Wade was hers, that her mother was still alive, and, well, Scarlett hadn’t exactly kept track of her father’s various delusions.</p><p>“Are you angry with me?” her youngest sister asked quietly.</p><p>“No," she lied. "Pa’s got to keep his strength up, after all. Is your dress ready?”</p><p>Carreen nodded. “It’s beautiful.” Indeed. Scarlett had worn the white ruffled organza when she’d been fourteen. The material was too delicate for dying, but reusing such a fine dress wouldn’t be seen as a misstep. She hoped.</p><p>Wade fussed in her lap, and she hissed at him to be quiet. “M’fuh!” he insisted. “M’fuh, Mama.”</p><p>“What on earth--”</p><p>“He’s full,” Carreen said. “And tired. He wanted to wait up for you. Just check if he needs the bathroom and put him to bed.”</p><p>If only Carreen were old enough to raise Wade on her own, without Scarlett's help. The thirteen-year-old could barely lift the little boy.</p><p>“Sue,” she said with Wade on her hip, “will you get my gown from downstairs? I’d like you to work on it while I clean up around here.”</p><p>“It’s your dress,” Suellen said, still bent over her own.</p><p>“Great balls of fire, I’ve been working all day so that we can make a living and the least you could do is help me a little. God's nightgown, Suellen, you are such a--”</p><p>“Don’t take His name in--”</p><p>“Oh, you sound like a fussy old--”</p><p>“You think just because you’re the eldest you’re our mother!”</p><p>Gerald slammed his hand down on the kitchen table. He opened his mouth, but Wade chose that moment to wail right in Scarlett’s ear.</p><p>She tightened her grip on Wade and left the room, putting him down on his little pallet in her room. “Good night,” she said quickly.</p><p>“Story?”</p><p>She sighed. When was the last time she’d read anything? More than a year ago. And it had been something factual, something boring that Scarlett hadn’t finished. She wasn’t like Ashley. She didn’t read for leisure.</p><p>Scarlett ended up telling him about her day. She told Wade about Mrs. Tarleton, about restocking and doing her best to sit like a lady while hunched over a desk for hours at a time.</p><p>After slipping her hand out of his fist, she turned the lamp down low and hauled Pa out of his precious overstuffed armchair. “Time for bed, Pa.”<br/>
“I don’t need me own daughter telling me what to do,” he said, without any real fire. Scarlett knew her father, knew that for all his bluster he was docile as a lamb. So she calmly led Gerald to his room. Thank heavens he spent most of his days in his robe.</p><p>“Good night, Pa,” she said tiredly.</p><p>“Sleep well, Puss.”</p><p>She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside him, like she had whenever she’d had a nightmare in the past. With Gerald snoring on her left and her mother’s quiet warmth on her right, everything was right in the world.</p><p>Scarlett stamped thoughts of the past out of her mind. “Sue, did you get my dress?” Carreen held it up, then returned to the equation she'd been puzzling over. Scarlett peered over her sister’s shoulder. “That should come out to...oh, I think twenty-three? See if that fits. And Sue, finish up and then press your and Baby’s dresses, won’t you?”</p><p>The O’Hara girls sat in silence. Scarlett was uncomfortably reminded of old times, when Ellen mended clothes and did her best to teach her daughters needlework.</p><p>“Should we have prayers?” Carreen asked after a while.</p><p>“I have work to do,” Scarlett snapped. “Why don’t you pray by yourselves before going to bed?”</p><p>Suellen took the hint and left the room, but Carreen sat on Gerald’s chair and stared into the flames.</p><p>“Spit it out, Sissy.”</p><p>“I’m scared.”</p><p>Scarlett threw her dress into her lap. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s just a silly little event and a couple farmworkers’ll be picked.”</p><p>“But what about--”

</p><p>“You’ve got two slips. You’re not like...like Brent and Stuart. They had tesserae, that’s why they were picked. And that’s that. So stop worrying over nothing and leave me be. I don’t need to read you a story for you to fall asleep, do I?”

</p><p>Carreen left the room, shoulders slumped and head drooping lower than usual.

</p><p>Scarlett finished her dress before the sun came up. A sweetheart neckline paired with a slightly droopy skirt that hit just below her knees, cinched at the waist with the braided yellow tieback. She’d alter it in the morning. Right now she just wanted to sleep.

</p><p>Only an hour later, the now-curtainless windows let the sun through, straight into Scarlett’s eyes. She methodically tightened her dress to lessen the effects of hunger and set about on her chores. The rest of the family could sleep in, but someone had to run a home.

</p><p>She altered her gown rather clumsily until it hugged her waist, but the constant hunger of the past few months had taken a toll. Slightly shamefully, she took some of the stuffing from Gerald’s chair and sewed it into the bosom. Ellen’s sewing box, which had been bottomless since Scarlett could remember, was running low.

</p><p>Wearing her new dress, she felt out of place in the shabby mess that Tara had become. Why Pa called it Tara, she still didn’t know, but the name had stuck. Perhaps one of her mother’s stillborns had been given the name?

</p><p>When Ellen had kept house, raised her children, and run the apothecary (admittedly with Ruth’s help), Tara had been swept and swabbed and dusted nearly every day, the furniture had been cheap but solid, and the smell of cookies or flowers always hung in the air. Now the wallpaper was peeling, the corners full of cobwebs, and all Scarlett could smell was rain from the afternoon. She made a mental note to check the leak in Pa’s room for any water. The pot strategically placed by her feet had stopped the worst of the leaks in the roof that she’d had to patch after almost every shower, but Gerald didn’t understand that his beloved Tara was little more than a pigsty, at least in his eldest daughter’s eyes.

</p><p>Scarlett sighed. What was there to do for breakfast? She knew they had mint leaves and Mrs. Merriwether would begrudgingly gift her a roll if she asked extra nicely, but relying on others had never been easy for her.

</p><p>So she made weak mint tea. If her sisters complained she’d just drink theirs. Wouldn’t they be surprised when Mrs. Tarleton dropped off her casserole!

</p><p>Breakfast was a solemn affair. Even Gerald knew what the first day of May meant. Only Wade was oblivious, complaining that he was hungry so often and so loudly that Scarlett seriously considered slapping the boy.

</p><p>“Pa,” she said quietly once her sisters had gotten dressed up. “Take care of…” She swallowed. “Take care of your grandson.” She thrust Wade into Gerald’s arms and swept out the door.

</p><p>The square was only a short distance away, but to Scarlett, with three children in tow, it felt like miles. Dr. Meade’s office, the boarded up butcher shop that had belonged to the Fontaines, the grocer’s run by the Kennedys...the O’Hara’s passed by it all and took their places.

</p><p>To her, the only bright spot of all this was seeing Ashley. He’d be up onstage, as the only living victor from District Eleven.

</p><p>The sun shone, the way it always did after a heavy rain, and she lost herself for a minute, thinking of his fine golden hair catching the light. She nearly missed the moment when he walked onto the makeshift platform.

</p><p>Oh, Ashley...tall and strong, her knight in shining armor. Scarlett smiled, but it dropped off her face a moment later.

</p><p>For Melanie Hamilton stood by his side.

</p><p>Melanie had been Scarlett’s enemy ever since she’d been reaped. A mousy tribute from District Eight, somehow she’d captured Ashley in her little net during last year’s Games. Despite her heart-shaped, plain face she’d captured Capitol audiences too. And now she’d gotten permission from the president himself to live with Ashley here. What had Melanie Hamilton done to deserve Ashley?

</p><p>The mayor strode onstage. He was ramrod straight, wearing a slightly shabby black suit, but his jaw was set. In all her life, Scarlett had never seen him slouch nor laugh, not even a year and a half ago when his wife had been ill.

</p><p>Belle Watling, District Eleven’s escort, flounced onstage, her bright red hair and gaudy purple dress clashing in just the wrong way. Even so, Scarlett unconsciously bit her lips and pinched her cheeks.

</p><p>“Welcome,” she said in her slow Capitol accent. “I’m sure you’re all mighty excited, so let’s get straight to it, hmm?”

</p><p>Scarlett looked for Gerald in the crowd. He held Wade comfortably, but his eyes were locked on Belle.

</p><p>She turned her attention back to Ashley. Now that mealy-mouthed ninny of a fiance had her arm around him! And to think she’d been excited to see Ashley today. Why, if she’d known he would be wrapped around Melanie’s finger, she wouldn’t have bothered to come! Would her suffering never--

</p><p>“Scarlett O’Hara!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Matter of Survival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the shorter chapter! But I want to keep on a regular uploading schedule (every Saturday, in my timezone at least). Thank you for reading!<br/>(I've taken quite a few liberties with how the HG work, as well as the order of events/characters of GWTW. I, obviously, own nothing.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To the casual observer, a well-dressed merchant girl glided to the stage and up the stairs, a carefully neutral expression arranged on her face.</p>
<p>	To Scarlett, the world had gone still. Surely this hadn’t just happened.</p>
<p>	What would happen to her sisters, to her father, to her boy? Suellen and Carreen weren’t strong enough to assume her duties. At the very least, the facade of respectability would fall.</p>
<p>	She had worked too hard for this to happen.</p>
<p>	“Your name again, dearie?” Belle asked. Up close Scarlett could see just how caked the woman’s makeup was.</p>
<p>	“Scarlett O’Hara,” she said sweetly.</p>
<p>	“And how old are you?”</p>
<p>	“That’s not a very polite question for a lady.”</p>
<p>	Belle glared at her for a split second, then pasted a toothy smile on her face. “And our male tribute…”</p>
<p>	Scarlett didn’t bother to listen. It didn’t matter who her ally was. She would just have to kill him. As long as her tricks worked on him too.</p>
<p>	But Frank Kennedy walked onstage. Scarlett came close to praying for death.</p>
<p>	Frank, Suellen’s only beau and their only hope for salvation. Scarlett’s beaus were almost all gone, whether from the Games like Stuart and Brent, from starvation like the Fontaines, or they had simply disappeared like the Calverts. Yet Sue’s only suitor remained, and Scarlett had come close to plopping a ring into Frank’s hand. At least it would mean one less mouth to feed.</p>
<p>	The mayor stopped droning on and on about unity and Frank stuck out a sweaty hand. She shook it, trying not to wrinkle her nose. He was two weeks away from nineteen, but she could swear gray hairs had begun to spring up. His weak chin, pinkish skin and always-grubby clothes did him no favors. What on earth did Suellen see in him?</p>
<p>	Scarlett offered a dazzling smile to the audience, then let the Peacekeepers escort her to the Justice Building. When she’d been just six years old, a boy had tried to run. He’d been shot.</p>
<p>	She wouldn’t be trying that.</p>
<p>	Scarlett took no notice of the bare room. She just arranged her skirts and tried to plan. There wasn’t time to panic about the Games--she’d think about that tomorrow.</p>
<p>	Suellen would have to drop out of school the same way Scarlett had. There was no way around it. If Carreen could clean, and cook, and care for Wade, and if Suellen kept sales steady and took out tesserae…</p>
<p>	It would be enough. Just barely. And if it wasn’t, a dead sister made for a good story.</p>
<p>	She told all this to her family. Carreen nodded, whitefaced, Gerald stared blankly, yet Suellen set her jaw in something suspiciously similar to determination. Scarlett wouldn’t remember anything of this goodbye but Wade clutching at her skirt, confused and scared.</p>
<p>	A minute or so after her family left and any trace of tears had been wiped from her eyes, Melanie Hamilton practically bounced into the room, her natural cheer on full display.</p>
<p>	“Hello, dear,” she said, kissing Scarlett’s cheek. “Oh, I feel as if we’re sisters already, Ashley’s talked about you so much.”</p>
<p>	She immediately perked up. This news was enough to offset the irritation that Melanie’s presence always brought. Scarlett endured the small talk until Ashley’s name came up again.</p>
<p>	“Now, you’ve got to be very quiet about this, dear. Ashley and I came to a little agreement, so that poor Ash doesn’t have to coach two tributes. I’ll be coaching...well, helping, is the word we agreed on, but no matter. I’ll be your mentor. Doing what I would have done back in Eight.”</p>
<p>	No, it was not all right in Scarlett’s world, nothing was. But thanks to the dual forces of Melanie’s bright-eyed, hopeful grin and Ellen’s teachings, she found herself simpering and telling Melanie that of course it was, that she just couldn't wait.</p>
<p>	But when Melanie left, the walls of the room--peeling and brown--began to close in. No one else would come to say goodbye, Scarlett was sure. The Tarleton boys, the Fontaines, the Calverts--anyone who’d want to see her was dead and gone. At times like this, she wished her nanny hadn’t been so...traditional. Ruth had never given Scarlett so much as a hug, and surely she wouldn’t start now.</p>
<p>	For the first time in a long while, she had time to think. No figures to add up, leaks to patch, meals to cook...she’d even settle for Wade’s company to avoid this. After all, time to think was dangerous. There were too many things off-limits, and Scarlett had another heap to add to the pile.</p>
<p>	She wouldn’t be the terrified little girl that always ended up gutted at the Cornucopia. If she wanted her family to survive, she had to win.</p>
<p>	Of course, her only real asset was her charm. She wasn’t weak by any means, but her lean build didn’t look particularly threatening, and her experience with weapons didn’t go further than threatening Suellen with a butcher knife.</p>
<p>	She’d think about that later. After all, the Peacekeepers were back, ready to escort her to the train station.</p>
<p>	Scarlett smiled and waved for the cameras, making sure her dimples were on full display and frequently checking the large screens to make sure she wasn’t grimacing. She ignored Frank, his pink scalp showing through his thin hair. He really did look like an old man.</p>
<p>	Once on the train, Belle gave her charges no time to admire the car. She just dragged them into the dining hall, already set with fruits, cheeses and nuts Scarlett couldn’t name.</p>
<p>	“Your mentors will be joining us shortly,” she said in her Capitol accent. “I’m here to give you the rundown. We’ll be arriving in the Capitol shortly after breakfast. When we get there, you’ll be passed over to your stylists--can’t remember their names--passed over to your stylists for the opening ceremonies.”</p>
<p>	“We won’t be forced to wear fruits or anything?” Scarlett asked.</p>
<p>	“I make no promises.” Belle rolled her eyes. “But you just have to do as they say. After the ceremony, you’ve got three days of training, then a day of prep for interviews, and the interviews themselves. Next day is the Games.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett glanced at her fellow tribute, then scooted away. He looked like he might vomit. She returned her attention to the brusque woman in front of her.</p>
<p>	“You want my advice? Eat up. Might as well make your last meals the best of your life.” Scarlett popped an almond into her mouth.</p>
<p>	“What about training? And what kind of prep?” she asked. If survival meant a few more minutes in the company of this wench, she’d spend them gladly.</p>
<p>	“Fighting, with spears, knives. And survival. What plants to eat, starting fires, you know the drill. And the prep? Etiquette, with me--” Scarlett choked back a laugh “--and you’ll decide your angle, for your interview, with your mentor.”</p>
<p>	“Who else?” Frank said hoarsely. “Who are the other tributes?”</p>
<p>	Belle tossed her hair. Was it dyed? “I don’t know, dearie. This evening, we get a nice little recap of the day’s events. You’ll know then.”</p>
<p>	Melanie pulled Ashley into the room, and Scarlett immediately felt the atmosphere shift. Gone was the grim tension, and in its place a forced cheer.</p>
<p>	“So sorry we’ve held you all up!” Melanie said. “But we’re here now. I’m Melanie Hamilton--soon to be Wilkes--and do call me Melly, I hate formalities, don’t you?”</p>
<p>	Her bright smile cut no ice with Scarlett, in fact Melanie’s cheerful disposition made her want to vomit, but she showed her dimples just the same.</p>
<p>	Melanie put her hand on Ashley’s arm and squeezed it gently. The simple gesture tightened Scarlett’s smile.</p>
<p>	“I’m Ashley Wilkes, but you both knew that,” he said absently.</p>
<p>	His fiance left no time for awkwardness. “We’ll be mentoring you, isn’t that nice? A perfect team, you two. Now, your stylists are...oh, I just cannot remember!”</p>
<p>	Frank swallowed hard. “Team?”</p>
<p>	Could this man not speak in full sentences?</p>
<p>	“Well, we assumed that you two could work together,” Ashley said.</p>
<p>	“But if you don’t work well together,” Melly hastened to add, “that’s perfectly all right.”</p>
<p>	“Will you excuse me?” Scarlett said. “I have a headache.”</p>
<p>	Oh, God. Suellen would want an alliance, and if she didn’t win, Frank was the next best choice. But to ally herself with that? She couldn’t stoop so low. Yet...if it meant survival, would she?</p>
<p>	No, no. What she’d do...she’d charm everyone. Frank and all the rest. Then she’d have her pick of alliances, and could form a good strong group. Yes, that was a good...well, it was a plan. But charming twenty-three tributes and their mentors wouldn’t be easy. And if she wanted sponsors, it meant the entire Capitol as well.</p>
<p>	Scarlett would have to plan her entire persona for the next week or so. From her hair to her shoes, even the finer details like the tone of her voice. There would be no distractions. This was a matter of survival, and that would be all.</p>
<p>	So she locked Gerald, Suellen, and Carreen out of her heart. Pretended they were just distant cousins, relatives she barely knew. Wade took a little longer, and Ashley even more time. She had no other responsibilities, she told herself. The worries of her family and her love weren’t her problems anymore. She’d think about them later.</p>
<p>	“When the Games are over,” she repeated to herself. “When the Games are over.”</p>
<p>	But right now, she had a country to fool.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Games Have Started, Indeed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, I talked big game last week about updating regularly, didn't I? Technically, this is just two hours late, but I'm still so sorry! A lot of this chapter is just me revamping HG canon and GWTW canon to messily fit--but I just had to include the barbeque dress! I'm not very proud of this chapter...well, except the very end, I guess ;)<br/>As always, I own nothing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He looks dangerous,” Melanie said quietly when District Two’s male tribute was reaped. “Oh, you will be careful, won’t you?”</p>
<p>	With barely-concealed ire, Scarlett nodded. Where was Ashley? She didn’t have the strength to sit through the entire recap with just Melanie, Belle and Frank.</p>
<p>	She stared at her nails through District Three, but Four made her pause. Something about the male tribute...he looked straight through the camera, smiling so widely she could see his white teeth against his swarthy skin.</p>
<p>	Scarlett bit her lip. This wasn’t the time to be making conquests. This was life-or-death. She went back to her nails for a while, only looking up again when Melanie’s strangled gasp reached her ears.</p>
<p>	The male District Eight tribute had large, cow-brown eyes. He looks like a wounded puppy, she thought.</p>
<p>	“Your brother?” Belle asked quietly, hand on Melanie’s shoulder.</p>
<p>	Scarlett couldn’t help but be impressed when Melanie nodded, wiped her eyes, and straightened her back, eyes on the screen, cheeks pale but jaw set.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a long breakfast of Frank’s barely-disguised sniffles and Melanie’s determined cheerfulness, Scarlett was ready to explode, and her day had just started. Belle had left her outside a room labeled, “Walt,” and there she stood, kicking her heels and waiting for someone to tell her what to do.</p>
<p>	Her patience wore out and she threw open the door, wishing she were taller and filled up the frame. Then she wouldn’t feel so intimidated by the three faces that looked down at her.</p>
<p>	Three women--one black-haired with what looked like real gold woven into her tight braids, one wearing the most beautiful gossamer dress Scarlett had ever seen, and a third towering over the others in seven-inch heels--with megawatt smiles and the Capitol accents she’d come to recognize.</p>
<p>	Luckily, Scarlett didn’t have to feel small for much longer. The three women introduced themselves--she didn’t bother to listen to their names--and pulled her into the room, apologizing for the delay.</p>
<p>	Scarlett couldn't decide whether to be flattered or insulted by her prep team--her "ivory skin" marred by her reddish hands, her black hair "gorgeous but dreadfully tangled." In the end, she chose to hear the kind words of her prep team as they filed her nails and lathered them in creams, scrubbed her down, and removed her body hair.</p>
<p>	At least there was gossip to be had. She made an effort to conceal her temper, because the petty grievances aired by her team were too interesting to pass up, even without knowing anyone involved.</p>
<p>	By the time the sun was high in the sky, she felt like a chicken prepared for eating, plucked and exposed. But her hair was wonderfully soft, like it hadn’t been in years, and her skin was returning to its normal magnolia. Her hands even looked like a lady’s again!</p>
<p>	Scarlett heard the door open again--a man. She pulled her robe tighter.</p>
<p>	“Hello,” the man said. “My name is Walt. I’ll be designing your costume for today.”</p>
<p>	“Will I be a fruit?” she asked dryly.</p>
<p>	Walt shook his head. “I want to subvert expectations.” He furrowed his brows. “You’d look quite good in green, wouldn’t you?”</p>
<p>	“I do.”</p>
<p>	“Be honest, Miss O’Hara--was your dress calculated? The color, I mean. Because the whole Capitol is talking about the girl in the green velvet. There’s hardly a better way to be noticed.”</p>
<p>	She’d put on quite a show in her velvet, hadn’t she? “It was what I had on hand.”</p>
<p>	“We’ll run with it.” Walt sat down on a cushy armchair, and she automatically sat across from him. Scarlett watched as he began to sketch a girl in a flouncy white-green dress.</p>
<p>	“What does that have to do with Eleven?” she asked. “I’d love to wear it, but I don’t want to stand out the wrong way, do I?”</p>
<p>	With a few strokes of his pencil, Walt outlined some kind of flower print. “Simplicity is best, don’t you agree?”</p>
<p>	Privately, Scarlett felt the more ornaments, the better, but she bit her tongue.</p>
<p>	“Now,” Walt said, slapping his knees as he stood up, “we’ve got to get you in costume. I’ll tell your prep team to keep you recognizable. No rouge, hair down and out of your face. We’ll get your angle right later.”</p>
<p>	And so Scarlett was swept into a whirl of paint, ribbons, and the most gorgeous dress she’d ever worn. Her skirt went to her ankles and was shaped like a flower, patterned with green-hued apple blossoms. The white muslin set off the green sash, and her ruffled collar--more blossoms tucked into the folds--lay low on her shoulders. She half hoped there wouldn’t be room for Frank in the chariot.</p>
<p>	While she was poked and prodded, she planned. Scarlett would have to speak with as many tributes as possible, to build some kind of relationship with each of them. Training would develop acquaintances to “friends,” and she would choose her group before the interviews took place. She practiced her sweetest smile in the mirror, coming close to asking her team to draw her dimples on.</p>
<p>	Walt and a few Peacekeepers ushered her into a car. She was silent during the drive, conserving her energy.</p>
<p>	The moment she stepped out of the car, she squared her shoulders and beamed at anyone in her vicinity. A reedy boy, the swarthy tribute she’d noticed, and of course Frank.</p>
<p>	“Don’t you look dashing, Frank?” Privately, she winced at his straw getup. He looked like a scarecrow. All the same, she adjusted his hat. “We’ll make quite the pair--that is, if you can fit in the chariot with my big old dress.”</p>
<p>	Only when Frank stammered a compliment did she sweep away towards her next victim.</p>
<p>	“I’m terribly sorry I don’t know your name,” she said, holding her hand out to be kissed. “I’d certainly like to.” Was Ashley here? Did he see her?</p>
<p>	“Charles,” he stammered. “D-District Eight.”</p>
<p>	“Lovely. My, you look handsome in all those colors!” The boy looked almost like a cow, with his big brown eyes and slow smile.</p>
<p>	Scarlett flitted from beau to beau. No one else seemed to be mingling, not the way she was anyway. By the time Belle, through gritted teeth, told her to get in the chariot, Scarlett knew all but one male tribute. And she was certain he’d been looking at her.</p>
<p>	All the same, getting into the chariot with Frank turned out to be much harder than it had any right to be. Charles kept craning his neck to look at her, Raoul wouldn’t stop smiling at her, and she was stuck with a gray-haired sissy.</p>
<p>	Despite her revulsion, especially when the chariot began to move and Frank came close to vomiting (was that the third time today?), she kept her smile pasted on her face. If she didn’t charm the audience, how else would she live? How else would Frank get any sponsors?</p>
<p>	Scarlett blew kisses and waved and caught roses until she wanted to scream. The ride itself didn’t feel real. She got the strangest sense that she’d done it a million times, whether at her mother’s tea sessions, at the occasional party, trying to lie to her nanny...the perfect lady was a facade she wore often.</p>
<p>	But oh, how the audience loved her! She worked hard to keep the triumphant gleam from her eyes. It wouldn’t do. Or, in Ruth’s words, “it ain’t fittin’.”</p>
<p>	When the president had finished his little speech about unity or something equally uninteresting and the chariot had come to a halt, she immediately complimented a Fanny Elsing on her gorgeous gem ensemble and fawned over Sarah Bonnell’s hair (while tactfully ignoring her coal miner’s getup).</p>
<p>	Belle dragged her away from the rapidly dwindling group, but Scarlett couldn’t help puffing up her chest, just a bit. Hadn’t she just practically doubled her chances? She’d be all over the Capitol by morning, she knew more than half the tributes, and she hadn’t slipped once.</p>
<p>	Her sense of accomplishment was destroyed the minute the Training Center’s elevator door closed.</p>
<p>	“You were both disgraces,” Belle hissed. “Frank, you looked like an old lady in tight pants. Scarlett, you couldn’t have made him look worse if you tried.”</p>
<p>	Her tirade continued, though Scarlett no longer paid attention. Tall ceilings with crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains and gracefully curving couches, a dining table a mile long...what she wouldn’t do to live here forever!</p>
<p>	“Are either of you listening to me?”</p>
<p>	“I don’t see what the problem is,” Scarlett said sweetly.</p>
<p>	“What problem, dear?” Melanie said, entering the room with Ashley. “I thought you were both wonderful. Weren’t they, Ashley?”</p>
<p>	Scarlett waited for his glowing words, but he just nodded.</p>
<p>	“The problem, Mi--Melanie, is that she made her partner look bad.”</p>
<p>	“What do you think, Frank?” Ashley asked. Always the mediator, she thought with fondness that quickly dissipated when she remembered he was supposed to be locked out of her heart.</p>
<p>	“Oh, I don’t know…” he dithered.</p>
<p>	If someone didn’t stick up for her, she was going to scream. Belle had to like her. Who’d do her networking otherwise? Desperately, she looked at Ashley.</p>
<p>	“Our darling girl didn’t do anything out of the ordinary,” Melly said. “She’s so full of life. Why, asking her not to speak with everyone in a room would be, why, it would be blasphemous! You don’t live in town, otherwise you’d know. Why don’t we watch the broadcast?”</p>
<p>	Still simmering with rage, Scarlett smiled and sat primly on the couch, trying not to look at Ashley or Frank, on their respective armchairs, or Melanie, beside her. Belle was nowhere to be found. Again, the black-haired tribute she hadn’t yet spoken to caught her eye. He radiated utter confidence, despite his rather unbecoming fisherman’s suit. The girl on his left, though, looked like she’d been sucking on lemons for ten years.</p>
<p>	Melanie went to bed soon after the president’s speech began, and Frank begged off a few minutes later.</p>
<p>	“Ashley,” she started, “where have you been? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”</p>
<p>	“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”</p>
<p>	“I was sorry to hear about your father.”</p>
<p>	“Thank you.” The conversation paused, but Scarlett felt comfortable in the silence. “It was the anniversary of your mother’s passing a few weeks ago, wasn’t it? Is Gerald all right?”</p>
<p>	“He’s been a bit out of sorts,” she said, waving her hand. “I expect he’ll be even worse now.”</p>
<p>	“If there’s anything I can do when I get back to District Eleven, let me know.”</p>
<p>	She forced a laugh. “Why, Ashley, you act as if I won’t come back.”</p>
<p>	He didn’t respond. This time, the silence was deafening.</p>
<p>	“Actually...there is something you can do.” Taking Ashley’s nod as a signal, Scarlett went on. “We’ve been...well, you know Pa had to stop working on account of his knee, and Mother died, and I’ve been running the apothecary...what I mean to say is, without me working, money will be tight. Suellen will have to take out tesserae. Maybe Carreen, too. And I don’t know what’ll happen to Wade. If you and Melly could take care of him, and maybe send Sue some money…”</p>
<p>	“Scarlett, we spent the tiny sum the Capitol gave us on paying off debts and buying our house.”</p>
<p>	Cold dread settled on her like a blanket. “Don’t you get rich when you win the Games?”</p>
<p>	Ashley pinched the bridge of his nose. “In order for Melanie to live here, we had to give back around ninety percent of our winnings.”</p>
<p>	The dread turned to anger. Why would anyone choose to part with money they desperately needed? No wonder Ashley hadn’t taken Wade off her hands. What remained of the Wilkes clan lived in a tiny house on Ivy Street, nothing like Ashley’s childhood home on Oak and Twelfth.</p>
<p>	More than anything, it meant no help for Tara. Scarlett was surprised to discover that the thought of losing the perpetually damp apartment wasn’t a pleasant one. She picked at her skirt, trying to get her emotions in check, but she could feel the blush settling across her cheeks all the same.</p>
<p>	“But Ashley, you’ve got to help.”</p>
<p>	“I wish I could.” He stood. “I’m tired, Scarlett.”</p>
<p>	After he closed the doors of the common area behind him, she spent a rage-fueled minute pacing before asking the Peacekeeper outside the door where she could get some fresh air. He wordlessly guided her to a set of stairs.</p>
<p>	Scarlett didn’t take the time to appreciate the rooftop garden, with benches, trees and lampposts scattered about in a seemingly random pattern. The moment she saw the ceramic Cupid, she’d lobbed it off the roof and onto the streets below. Unfortunately, the subsequent crash wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped.</p>
<p>	“Have the Games started?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't know what HG etiquette would be regarding partners from different districts, but this is so much more fun, isn't it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Pride(ful) and Tempestuous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I own nothing, obviously. All rights to MM.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scarlett started, whipping her head around. A tall figure stood up from a stone bench, swathed in shadow. Judging by the voice, he was a man, but his drawl was unfamiliar to her, although not displeasing.</p><p>	“You...you startled me,” she said lamely.</p><p>	“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice, read the sarcasm in his silhouette. “I hated to interrupt your tantrum.”</p><p>	Scarlett’s chest swelled with anger, though a tantrum was exactly how she’d describe her most recent behavior. “I beg your pardon.”</p><p>	“All I want to know is who drove you to such extremes.” The man put a hand over his heart. “I’d challenge them to a duel to uphold your honor.”</p><p>	Somehow he didn’t sound ready to cross swords. “Who are you?” she snapped.</p><p>	He stepped into the light, and she held back a gasp. District Four, if she remembered right--the only boy she hadn’t spoken to. “Rhett Butler, at your service.” He held out a hand.</p><p>	She grasped it. “Scarlett O’Hara.” His hand was warm, his grip firm. She told herself she didn’t notice the muscles rippling under his shirt, or the dark eyes that were bright with mirth.</p><p>	“Ah. District Eleven’s winning tribute.” He didn’t let go of her hand.</p><p>	“That’s right,” she said, at a loss.</p><p>	Rhett rescued her. “Did your mentor hurt your pride? Or that old maid in britches?”</p><p>	Scarlett yanked her hand from his. “I don’t have to listen to another word you say, Mr. Butler.”</p><p>	“If it’s any consolation, I don’t much like my counterpart either,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “My father wanted me to marry her, back in Four. So in a way, the Games are almost a good thing.”</p><p>	The Games that had cost her childhood friends, that might cost her family their home, a good thing? “You are the most selfish, conceited, awful man I have ever--”</p><p>	“Nice meeting you too.”</p><p>	“You aren’t fit to--to--oh, go to the devil,” Scarlett spluttered, turning on her heel and swishing back down the stairs.</p><p>	She could swear Rhett’s mocking laughter followed her.</p><p>Scarlett didn’t sleep well. Nightmares had plagued her for the last year or so, ever since her mother died, and tonight was no exception. She also learned that gorging yourself after months of near starvation didn’t bode well, and ended up vomiting up most of last night’s supper and multiple nightmare-related snacks.</p><p>Still, she rose early and padded down the hall after dressing in a simple beige shirt and blue pants.</p><p>	She took Belle’s advice and loaded up her plate. Grits, stew, fruit, eggs, bacon...food that she’d eaten carelessly a few years ago now seemed like a novelty. For months toast with a scrape of butter had been a treat.</p><p>	Frank had clearly just woken up, for his hair was puffed up on one side of his head. Scarlett noted with approval that at least he’d bathed and his plate was full. Maybe he’d rise to the occasion.</p><p>	She followed both common sense and her mother’s rules this time, savoring every bite instead of practically cramming it into her mouth. With a bit of luck, she wouldn’t sick all over the Training Center.</p><p>	Half an hour later, Scarlett found herself in the elevator with Sarah Bonnell and District 12’s male tribute. She struck up a conversation with...oh, what was his name? It eluded her throughout the entire ride.</p><p>	She made a point to ignore Rhett Butler while a bow-legged man droned on about the rules of the Center. No actively trying to kill one another, follow instructions, nothing that wasn’t intuitive.</p><p>	Scarlett spent her first day learning to wield a knife, flirting and training with the boys that came and went and doing her best to chat with the girls. Lunch meant more talking, and more pointedly looking away from Rhett. Well, except when she thought about throwing her knife at him and had to pinpoint the target.</p><p>	Ashley wasn’t there for dinner that night, nor breakfast the next morning, when the reality of her situation began to set in. Tomorrow afternoon, she had to put on a different kind of show for the Gamemakers, to receive her score. A perfectly average score, a seven, perhaps? She wouldn’t lose credibility as a competitor, but her opponents wouldn’t take her too seriously. The question was how to get it…</p><p>	She wasn’t above using her natural charm, but any other option was preferable. She could identify poisonous and non-poisonous plants easily and her skills with a blade were passable, but Scarlett needed to stand out. She always had.</p><p>	Scarlett also began narrowing down her choices for alliances. Charles Hamilton was a weakling, but he might be useful--Melanie would be more inclined to get her sponsors if it meant a better chance for Charles. That was how Scarlett would think, at least.</p><p>	Frank? Even if his win benefitted her family, and teaming up appeased Suellen, she couldn’t see him helping her one bit. He could start fires and, she admitted begrudgingly, he was very convincing in a way she was not, but his less than professional conduct of the last few days had not sold her on the idea.</p><p>	Raoul and Carey were good bets. Raoul possessed a resourcefulness similar to her own, and Carey, being from District Two, knew how to fight.</p><p>	Scarlett spent most of the day with her two picks, but couldn’t help sneaking glances at Rhett. She noted (completely impassively) his skill with a spear and with snares.</p><p>	But the morning of the third day, after she’d broken down and asked Melanie to form an official alliance with Raoul and Carey’s mentors, her plans came crashing down around her.</p><p>	“You know Ashley’s fiance?” Raoul said, trying to set a trap and failing miserably.</p><p>	Scarlett nodded, focusing on her own snare, which was only slightly less misshapen than Raoul’s.</p><p>	“She’s already going around asking to ‘collaborate on sponsor gifts.’” Raoul laughed, and Scarlett’s blood ran cold.</p><p>	“My mentor told me to stay solo,” Carey said. “So that all my gifts would be mine.” He looked over her head at Raoul, but Scarlett couldn’t see his expression.</p><p>	“Melly’s such a silly little fool sometimes,” she said brightly. “I do hope your mentors didn’t take her seriously.”</p><p>	“Well, we figured you’d want allies.” Scarlett had to admire how neatly Carey avoided the question, though every bone in her body wanted to shout at him to answer her.</p><p>	“Who wouldn’t want to be partners with one of you?” she flirted automatically. “Oh, Raoul, that looks more like a ball of yarn than a snare.”</p><p>	“It does, doesn’t it?”</p><p>	The conversation ended, but Scarlett still seethed. Carey had never wanted to be allies with her. He’d all but told her so. Raoul, she wasn’t so sure, but she wasn’t going to take the chance. Speaking of which, hers had just fallen by more than she was comfortable with.</p><p>	The realization that neither boy had taken her seriously, even though she happened to be a year older than Raoul, angered her. Hadn’t she proven herself to be at least capable? And if she’d wasted hours of her time on them, what would it mean for the arena?</p><p>	Who was left? Charles? Fanny? She pondered the question until a Gamemaker called out, “Scarlett O’Hara!”</p><p>	Scarlett entered the gymnasium, the barest outlines of a plan in mind. Smile and curtsy. Only three Gamemakers acknowledged her presence.</p><p>	Now more determined than ever to prove herself, Scarlett picked up a knife and threw it at the target. Not perfect, but respectable. Hurling things at Suellen and at numerous walls certainly paid off.</p><p>	Where else would her limited repertoire be of use? Scarlett couldn’t very well eat a few plants and bow.</p><p>	She ended up hurling knives at different targets. Very therapeutic. Relaxed body, good posture, moderate pressure. It blurred together until a Gamemaker motioned for her to stop.</p><p>	“Thank you,” she said, twirling a chicken breast between her fingers. “You may go.”</p><p>	Scarlett curtsied again and left through the other door. Hopefully Frank didn’t botch the job entirely.</p><p>	She reached the elevator right when she began to panic. What if it hadn’t been enough? A couple times, the blades had struck the outside ring. Could she still come up with a seven, or would her chances at sponsors be entirely lost?</p><p>	“I’ll think about it later,” she said to herself, and pressed what she hoped was the right button for the elevator.</p><p>	It dinged opened far too early, just as Scarlett was getting fed up with the peppy music.</p><p>	“Hello, Scarlett.” Rhett Butler smiled, his eyes raking up and down her figure. She might have worried about her matching black shirt and pants that she’d thrown on after oversleeping, but she was too busy biting her lip and clenching and unclenching her fists.</p><p>	“I’m going up to the roof again,” he said when she stayed silent. “Has it been destroyed in my absence?”</p><p>	With that, Scarlett's temper boiled over. “Oh, you cad! I never want to speak to you again!”</p><p>	Rhett opened his mouth, but before he could aggravate her further the elevator shuddered to a halt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We have A Change in the Wind back!! One of the first GWTW fics I ever read :)<br/>On another note, I despise this chapter and would love some feedback. Rhett finally showed up, though, so it's not all bad (in my eyes, at least).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. F̶e̶m̶m̶e̶ ̶F̶a̶t̶a̶l̶e̶ Ingenue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you haven't read THG recently, this chapter talks a lot about a scoring system used to rank tributes (so that potential sponsors can see who is stronger). One is the lowest, twelve is the highest.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Let me get this straight.” Rhett crossed his legs. “You took in some kid--”</p><p>	“Not some kid,” Scarlett said, pressing the alarm button for the millionth time. Maybe this time, it’d get her out of this horrible game of “twenty questions.” It felt more like an interrogation. Was this what other districts did for fun? “Ashley Wilkes’ nephew.”</p><p>	“Old friend?”</p><p>	A blush rose to her cheeks, and she punched the button again. “Yes. Our families have known one another for a long time.”</p><p>	Rhett frowned briefly, then settled his face back into its easy expression. “How old is he?”</p><p>	“Why do you care? I never should have agreed to this stupid game.”</p><p>	“Just sit down, Scarlett. Abusing it isn’t going to magically fix it. It’s the Capitol--sooner or later someone’ll realize, and you’ll be freed from this terrible prison.”</p><p>	She sat down on the spotless elevator floor, tucking her legs to the side to avoid Rhett’s now-stretched ones. “When is it my turn?”</p><p>	“Patience is a virtue. You haven’t even answered my last one.” He smirked, and she barely resisted the urge to wipe it off his face. Unfortunately, harming tributes before the Games was prohibited.</p><p>	“He’s three. His birthday’s in January.”</p><p>	“If Wilkes won, why didn’t he take Wade back?”</p><p>	Scarlett threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t know!” She wasn’t going to say anything about Ashley’s money problems, because it would lead to speculation on her own. She hadn’t mentioned anything about her mother, either.</p><p>	“He’s a bit older than my sister, then,” Rhett said.</p><p>	“Who is?”</p><p>	“Wade. My sister’s two and a half.”</p><p>	“You have a sister? And she’s younger than Wade? Why, your mother must have been my age when you were born!” Scarlett clapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. Rhett’s laugh echoed in the small chamber.</p><p>	“She was older, I promise. Rosemary was meant to be a safety baby for my father, so that he’d still have two heirs if my brother--who am I kidding, when my brother turns out unsuitable.”</p><p>	“We’re both the eldest, then.” Scarlett felt odd saying it. Why provide a connection to Rhett Butler, of all people? But she liked talking to him, at least when he wasn’t being an ass.</p><p>	“What are your sisters like?”</p><p>	“Carreen is nice,” she said cautiously. “Suellen and I don’t get along very well.”</p><p>	“Oh, do tell.” Rhett propped his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. Scarlett stifled a laugh.</p><p>	“Well, Carreen doesn’t bother me or complain much.” Trying to think of a tactful way to describe her middle sister would be tough. “Suellen doesn’t like me, and I don’t like her.”</p><p>	“What a coincidence! That’s exactly how I feel about my brother.” Rhett smiled and leaned back. Scarlett’s chest tightened. Unconsciously, she reached up and rapped the button again.</p><p>	The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, surprisingly. Well, maybe silence wasn’t the right word. The speaker was still playing some kind of lullaby. She clenched her fists. The incessant doo-doo-dee grated on her nerves.</p><p>	“Do you think that thing has an off switch?” Scarlett burst out when she couldn’t stand it anymore.</p><p>	“Is it bothering you, too?”</p><p>	She laughed. “Yeah.”</p><p>	“If the alarm isn’t working, I doubt anything else is.”</p><p>	“How would you know? It was working fine till you came along,” Scarlett huffed.</p><p>	“Do allow me to make it up to you, Miss O’Hara.” Rhett gave her his trademark smile, one corner of his mouth tilting higher than the other.</p><p>	“That’ll be difficult.”</p><p>	“Maybe I’ll give you a nice green hat when I win, to offset that all-black ensemble.”</p><p>	Scarlett narrowed her eyes, but before she could reach over and slap him, Rhett continued. “I jest, I jest. But really, my dear. Whatever will the Gamemakers say?”</p><p>	“What will they say about you? I’m quite sure your score’s going to be the lowest.” A blatant lie--she wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled a twelve--but a necessary one.</p><p>	“Undoubtedly.” The way he looked at her made Scarlett blush. She could feel him scanning her, picking apart her strengths and weaknesses. It almost angered her, because his black eyes were unreadable.</p><p>	With a jolt, she was thrown into Rhett’s legs as the elevator began to move once more. Automatically, his arms went around her, as if to steady her. For one breathless moment, before Scarlett got her bearings, they were neatly entwined. She couldn’t help noticing that their bodies fit perfectly together. This is Rhett, Scarlett reminded herself, but it wasn’t enough. Her cheeks flamed red before she picked herself up off the floor. Rhett stayed seated.</p><p>	“Thanks,” she said as the elevator dinged. “Good luck tonight.”</p><p>	She left before hearing Rhett’s quiet, “You too.”</p><p> </p><p>Scarlett had gotten sick of biting her tongue every second she spent in Melanie’s presence, of pointedly not looking at Ashley every meal (or the ones he showed up at, anyway), and of ignoring Frank whenever she could. It was exhausting. And the worst was still to come.</p><p>	“Well, what did we expect from District Three?” Belle said, downing another glass of whiskey. “They’ve never been too strong.”</p><p>	For some reason, Scarlett felt nervous as the words “District Four” flashed onscreen. Rhett was competition, not her friend, and it was time she acted like it. Still, she had to sit on her hands to stop herself from wringing them.</p><p>	“Oh, dear.” Melanie worried her bottom lip and methodically smoothed her frock. “I’m afraid this Mr. Butler will be very tough competition.”</p><p>	Scarlett stole a peek at the screen. Eleven, the highest score so far, coupled with a rather unflattering picture of Rhett. His face wasn’t really that wide. It still stirred something in her, a mix she didn’t want to puzzle out. She peeked at Ashley, but his eyes were on Melanie, tracking her across the room as she straightened already-neat cushions and sat on nearly every available surface. Scarlett felt a surge of sympathy for the older girl.</p><p>	A few more sixes swam before her eyes, Charles among them. Raoul, surprisingly, only pulled a four, but Scarlett knew not to underestimate him. He didn’t look particularly strong--short and skinny didn’t exactly inspire fear, so playing the fool would work quite well for the majority of the arena.</p><p>	“District Eleven!” Belle crowed loudly. Scarlett sniffed haughtily, as Suellen would have done. She had to hand it to Sue--it worked wonders on your confidence.</p><p>	“Seven? Well done, Frank!” Melanie clapped her hands and bounced excitedly. Only Ruth’s admonishing that rolling your eyes would get them stuck in the back of your head stopped Scarlett from doing just that.</p><p>	Scarlett O’Hara - Eight.</p><p>	She couldn’t resist an unladylike whoop. Melanie hugged her, and in an uncharacteristic gesture, Scarlett returned the favor, smiling too hard to care that Melanie's stringy hair was tickling her nose.</p><p>	Frank looked rather put out, and Ashley hardly reacted to the news, but Belle gave her a lopsided grin. After District 12’s tributes had been scored (dismally low, as usual), the group disbanded.</p><p>	“Don’t forget!” Melanie called. “You’ve got four hours of etiquette, then four hours with Ashley and I. It’s important to get a good night’s sleep.”</p><p>	Scarlett did her best to follow Melanie’s advice, but after waking up thanks to her own screams not once, but twice, she plodded up to the roof, throwing a thin black robe over her nightgown.</p><p>	“Congratulations,” Rhett said smoothly, uncrossing his legs but not standing up. Before she got the chance to feel good about the compliment, he added, “You proved anyone can beat Frank.” As if nothing had happened, he patted the space next to him.</p><p>	Scarlett sat on the opposing bench. “I wish you’d fall off the roof.”</p><p>	“Who would delight you with stimulating conversation, otherwise?”</p><p>	“I’m sure Frank is up to the task,” she said dryly.</p><p>	“She can make a joke!” Rhett laughed. “I assure you, Miss O’Hara, no one is more delighted than I that a suitable partner has been found for you. I can only hope--”</p><p>	She leaned forward to swat his arm. “Can’t you ever be serious? How’d you get that eleven?”</p><p>	He shrugged. “Speared a dummy and casually mentioned I’d do the same to them if I didn’t get a good score.”</p><p>	“Of course you found something to hold over their head. When you’re old and gray, you’ll still tease them about that,” she said. Maybe he'd take the hint and stop riling her up every moment he spent with her.</p><p>	Rhett smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So I’m winning the Games now, is that it?”</p><p>	“You got the highest score,” Scarlett said practically. “I’m making an educated guess here.”</p><p>	He gasped and pretended to swoon. “Educated?”</p><p>	She bit her lip, choosing to ignore the insult. “I was good at math and things like that.”</p><p>	“Before you stopped going? Why? Too many men, and you had to kick one enriching activity to the curb?”</p><p>	“They were all dead, idiot,” she snapped, but shut her mouth before mentioning her mother.</p><p>	Rhett stared at her, a queer look on his face. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>	Scarlett shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now.”</p><p>	“What’s your interview angle?” he said, utterly transparent. She seized the subject.</p><p>	“I’m planning on the innocent good girl. You know, the ingenue.”</p><p>	Rhett laughed for so long, he nearly cried. Scarlett’s cheeks reddened, and it wasn’t because of the cold. “There’s so much to unpack,” he said when he’d finally calmed. “You know the word ingenue?”</p><p>	Scarlett straightened, offended. “Mother thought it was very important that we enriched ourselves outside of school.” Due to a combination of the last year and never really paying attention, only a few things had stuck in her head, and ingenue only because Ruth had told her to be like one.</p><p>	“And you...Scarlett, you’re not good enough of an actress to pull it off. You’ll never get away with it. The moment you can’t simper your way through a question the whole audience will know you’re putting on an act, and the rest of Panem about twenty seconds later.”</p><p>	Scarlett shot to her feet, even though she knew he was right--who had she ever been able to fool? “Why do you always insult me?” she said hotly. “I’m sure you know lots and lots about absolutely everything in the world, and no one else can ever compare to your vast knowledge--of what, fish? You aren’t the only person in the world with half a brain. I’m going to bed.”</p><p>	Her shoulders bunched and nearly came up to her ears in anticipation for Rhett’s horrid laugh, but it didn’t come. Scarlett supposed he’d been overcome by amusement and keeled over. Good.</p><p>	The moment she was in bed, she regretted it. She didn’t want to run through fog, or hear the news of her mother’s death, or watch her family slowly starve.</p><p>	Oddly, it was Melanie’s admonishments that convinced her to crawl under the blankets and close her eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry that this chapter is two weeks late. Thanks to a depressive episode, it was either give you guys five hundred unedited words or wait it out. Hopefully there can be some semblance of regularity over the holidays!<br/>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Damnation in Disguise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is...very short, very underwhelming, very late, and it was far too difficult to write. Thank you all very much for your kind words!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ellen’s most well-worn phrase was, “It’s a blessing in disguise.” A food shortage, Gerald’s knee injury, even when Carreen had fallen sick constantly as a child--Ellen had always admonished her girls to find “the good in what was given to you.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett had never been particularly skilled at finding that blessing, and Belle Watling wasn’t helping. Etiquette lessons were supposed to show the older woman that Scarlett could hold her own, that she’d be a contender in the Games.</p>
<p>	Instead, Scarlett spent four hours looking at her nails. Belle was too busy molding Frank into something even slightly suitable to pay much attention to her.</p>
<p>	“Come on, Frank. Enunciate. Your mouth can move while you speak,” she’d say, waving her cigarette around. Scarlett would wrinkle her nose--it smelled awful. But at least waving her hand in front of her nose and watching the arcs of smoke in the air were things to do--besides watch Frank cringe and grow nervous, at least. Over and over again, the same old thing: Frank would inevitably stutter, Scarlett would inevitably sigh, and Belle would continue, unbothered.</p>
<p>	After a while, Scarlett had to admit that improvements had been made. Noticeable ones. Frank didn’t duck his head whenever he stood, for one. She didn’t care. Four hours was a long time to bite your tongue, cheek, or nails, and by midday she was at her breaking point. And her day could only get worse--she hadn’t seen Melanie. She didn’t let herself cheer at the prospect of seeing Ashley.</p>
<p>	Scarlett took lunch in her room. That way she could eat to her heart's content and obey Ruth’s constant reminders not to eat much in front of others--not to mention less time spent with District 11’s team. Three birds with one stone.</p>
<p>	She had spent almost an hour stuffing herself with thinly sliced meats, tiny pastries that melted in her mouth, and bread like a cloud, and Belle's loud knock came as a surprise. Being told to “get moving” wasn't exactly rabble-rousing, especially when her bed was so soft and her stomach was full. Scarlett’s loud groan into her pillow muffled whatever else Belle had to say, but she dragged herself out of bed, pinching her cheeks as she went down the hall to the sitting room.</p>
<p>	Melanie kicked off the solemn gathering with a wide smile. “We all know why we’re here. Your interviews could be called the most important pre-Games event. As a group, we have to come up with, er...”</p>
<p>	“Angles,” Ashley said quietly, closing his book. “How to present yourself to the audience to appear more likeable and more likely to win.”</p>
<p>	“They’re both likeable already,” Melly chided him. “Scarlett, we all know you could charm the socks off a horse, and Frank of course is our kindhearted hero from home.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett glowed at the compliment, then coughed to cover her laugh. Kindhearted? Softhearted more like. She  had long harbored a suspicion that Frank ate his own wares because he practically gave things away for free. Not that it stopped her from taking advantage of it, and his relationship with Suellen.</p>
<p>	“I’ll spend an hour with you, Scarlett, and Ashley with Frank. Then we’ll reconvene and compare notes.” Scarlett tried not to pout at the thought of an hour with Melanie, but she didn't exactly want to spend more than a minute alone with anyone in the room. It could be worse, she reminded herself.</p>
<p>	“So, what are we looking at?” Melanie flattened her hands on the glossy wood of the dining table. Scarlett could hear Frank and Ashley’s low murmurs from the sitting room.</p>
<p>	“I don’t know. What did you do?”</p>
<p>	“Well, Pitty told me to be myself.” Oh, Pittypat. She’d won her Games thanks to her ability to sneak up on anyone, even through crunching leaves. A little screwy, Pittypat. To this day, Scarlett didn’t know if the old woman’s tiny feet were the result of Capitol surgery or had been her trump card in the Games. Probably both.</p>
<p>	“Sorry, Melly, I wasn’t listening,” Scarlett said, realizing Melanie was looking at her expectantly.</p>
<p>	“Oh, you didn’t miss much. I think you’d do perfectly well if you just went on as yourself. And I ordered us some snacks. I always get a bit peaky this time of day.”</p>
<p>	“It’s right after lunch.”</p>
<p>	“You’re right.” Melanie laughed, a little awkwardly. “Maybe I’m always a bit hungry.”</p>
<p>	“I can always eat.”</p>
<p>	Melly smiled, and Scarlett couldn’t help smiling back.</p>
<p>	Pudding arrived, a dark brown confection dotted with raspberries and sweet cream. Melanie took a small bite and closed her eyes, savoring it. A larger bite followed.</p>
<p>	“We should plan out a few answers, just in case you're caught off guard. I've no doubt that you'd recover mind you. But Panem wants to know about you and your life. Would you be comfortable mentioning your mother...mentioning Wade, even? It’d give the audience a better sense of who you are, what you stand for.”</p>
<p>	“I’m not going to beg the Capitol for sympathy,” Scarlett said through a mouthful of chocolate.</p>
<p>	“I don’t mean that! But Mr. Flickerman is bound to ask about your family. And when you make it to the final eight, your family will be interviewed. I don’t want a surprise coming to all of the Capitol--I’ll understand why you didn't mention it, but what if they think you’re dishonest?”</p>
<p> Oh, god. Interviews. Everyone would know that Gerald wasn’t right in the head, they’d see the dismal state of Tara...either that or her family would be out on the streets.</p>
<p>	The truth wasn’t begging for charity, right? It would be worth it in the end, right?</p>
<p>	“All right.”</p>
<p>	Melanie clapped her hands. “I don’t see what else I could possibly help you with.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett tapped her spoon against her nearly empty bowl. “Er, Belle mentioned that using your appearance to your advantage was a good idea? If you’re big, you can be silent and menacing, if you’re a tiny young thing, you can play up the cute little kid. Would that work for me?” Belle hadn't said anything of the kind, but the combined forces of Rhett's "advice" and the Capitol's reaction to pretty clothes had planted the idea in her mind.</p>
<p>	“You could ask Walt about it,” Melly said, cheeks pink. “I didn’t use that tactic, but some tributes do. I remember last year, the District Four girl--she wore a see through dress! It was all anyone talked about that night, and she got plenty of sponsors.” Her face had changed; Scarlett couldn’t remember ever seeing something resembling sadness on Melly’s face. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to debase yourself or anything like that, but if you think it would help--”</p>
<p>	“If you don’t think it’s a good idea, I won’t,” Scarlett said sharply. The abrupt shift in Melanie’s demeanor had left a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What time is it?”</p>
<p>	“I think we’ve got quite a bit of time. A quarter to three is when we reconvene, so why don’t we just chat?”</p>
<p>	Please no, she thought. “Of course,” she said, plastering on a smile, dimples and all. Desperately searching for a topic, she cast about her head and blurted, “When are you and Ashley getting married?”</p>
<p>	Oops.</p>
<p>	“We’re planning on this December," Melanie said, all cheer once more. "I’ve always wanted a winter wedding, but Ashley warned me it might not snow. We were going to do it last year, but I was sick from October to February.”</p>
<p>	“I remember.” Ashley had been at his most kind, and she’d been hopeful, waiting for him to take her away from her crumbling home and insane family. She’d always wondered what had changed when spring had finally made an appearance.</p>
<p>	“You know, I have the strongest suspicion that one of the O’Hara girls will be maid of honor,” Melly said, whispering loudly. Perhaps one of the Tarleton girls--"</p>
<p>	“I think Carreen would be up for the job.”</p>
<p>	The two women laughed, and for a moment, Scarlett felt completely at ease. She could almost see herself in the dingy tea shop on Peachtree, laughing over weak earl grey with no worries other than her friend’s wedding.</p>
<p>	But, inevitably, her shoulders slumped under the weight of responsibilities and suppressed thoughts of Ashley. Unbeknownst to her, the now-real smile had turned to a look one might find in the arena, one of cold determination.</p>
<p>	“I know you miss your family, dear.” Melanie put her warm hand on Scarlett’s. “But, if it’s any help to you, I think you’ve got a better chance than Frank at winning.” She whispered the last part, as if it were some big secret and not something Scarlett was ninety percent sure even Frank knew. All the same, she got a “thank you” out from behind clenched teeth.</p>
<p>	Melanie chattered on for a while longer, accepting low-effort nods and the occasional “of course” as a proper conversation. The moment the clock chimed three times, she was out of her seat, heading back to the sitting room.</p>
<p>	Apparently Frank’s approach was something along the lines of “the boy next door.” Scarlett didn’t see how he could pull it off--he looked thirty on a good day--but accepted it, as she had everything in the past year.</p>
<p>While Melanie relayed their short conversation to the group, Scarlett came to terms with other, more difficult matters.</p>
<p>No matter how beneficial it would be for her family, a win for Frank was impossible and she wasn’t going to pin her hopes on him. She had a slim chance, and Frank goddamn Kennedy would not be the one to squash it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've always wanted to explore Melanie more--Scarlett went through a lot, but Melanie went through the ringer before leaving Atlanta. Maybe her trauma resulted in a dependency on Scarlett, but in this story I'd like to think it developed in other ways as well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I'll Think About it Tomorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know what it is, but the past week I've been writing like crazy! Thank you for reading! As always, I own nothing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scarlett rose early. She couldn’t tell if it was due to habit, or the nightmare she’d woken up from at about five in the morning. She rubbed her arms. She wouldn’t think of the freezing fog now. There would be time for all of that later.</p>
<p>	She chose a white blouse and red skirt. She wanted to look nice for the two hours she had before Walt began prodding at her again (though she had to admit she was excited to see her interview dress). Scarlett took the time to brush her hair thoroughly and scrub at her teeth--who knew when she’d have the chance again?</p>
<p>	No one had arrived in the dining room by six-thirty. That didn’t bother Scarlett terribly. She sampled each dish, often going back for seconds and thirds. Her skirt was beginning to chafe at her when Belle walked in and helped herself to bacon and eggs.</p>
<p>	“Good morning!”</p>
<p>	Belle grunted in reply, pouring herself a large cup of coffee, then swilling half of it down without cream nor sugar. “Morning.”</p>
<p>	“Pardon, Miss, er...pardon, but what should I expect from my interview? Melly didn’t tell me everything.” Scarlett didn’t know how to address Belle--would a “Miss Watling” be stupidly formal, or would the older woman be offended by a simple “Belle?”</p>
<p>	“Just call me Belle. Everyone does.” She downed the rest of her coffee, then wiped her mouth. “‘M a bit slow in the mornings. But Melly won’t tell you anything she doesn’t want you to know, you know what I mean? If it’s not sunshine and rainbows, it doesn’t exist to her.” Scarlett poured them both a cup of coffee, adding a generous portion of cream to her own. Belle accepted hers gratefully. “Caesar, he’ll want to cast you in a role. Ashley was the well-read merchant boy, Melly the naive sweet kid. You’re gonna be tough to put in a box.”</p>
<p>	“Thanks.” Neither of them spoke as Frank silently loaded up a plate and disappeared back into his room.</p>
<p>	“My advice is to deflect. Don’t talk about yourself. Walt’ll put you in a pretty dress, so you can talk about that. Cry about how much you miss your family. It doesn’t matter much to me.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett took a moment to digest that, taking a sip of her coffee and barely managing to swallow. Absolutely disgusting.</p>
<p>	“So...no one has any real advice for me, then?” She tapped her fingers rapidly against her leg and clenched her jaw. What was the point of an entire day of coaching if she didn’t learn anything useful?</p>
<p>	“You’re hard to put in a box,” Belle repeated.</p>
<p>	“Good morning, dears. Did you sleep all right? Big day today.” Melanie’s brown eyes were filled with concern. “I know the interviews can be distressing, so I want to make sure you don’t have to worry about today’s schedule.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett squared her shoulders. “I’m fine, Melly.” She took another sip of coffee and instantly regretted it. “Um. What’s the plan?”</p>
<p>	“In about an hour, you’ll head on over to Walt’s studio. You’ll remain there all day. Don’t worry, they’ll feed you lunch. After that, you’ll drive over to the stadium. By now, you know the drill--you’ll stand for Mr. Flickerman, with everyone else, then watch Districts One through Ten take their turns.”</p>
<p>	“And then I go on?”</p>
<p>	“Yes, and then Frank, then the anthem. Do you have any questions?”</p>
<p>	“Nope.” Her hand closed around her coffee mug again, but thankfully Scarlett remembered the taste and let her hand drop to the mahogany wood.</p>
<p>	“Great!” Melanie’s cheeks had to hurt from all the goddamn smiling. Didn’t she know? Smiling only helped if you were trying to get something from someone--a compliment, money, an answer.</p>
<p>	The hour passed and Ashley didn’t show up. Scarlett checked out of the conversation Belle and Melly were having, choosing to take her pick from the pastries a servant had brought out.</p>
<p>	Scarlett couldn’t help being happy to see Walt again. Thanks to him, she’d made a big splash at the opening ceremony, and she trusted he could do it again.</p>
<p>	“I have a dilemma,” he said once she’d gotten settled. “My team and I have been weighing our choices. We can put you in green--make it a theme--or take a big leap and put you in red.”</p>
<p>	“Why?”</p>
<p>	“You’ve been in green this whole time. The Capitol expects it, and they identify you with it. Going with their expectations won’t be a bad thing, but subverting them wouldn’t be either. And I think we both know you look equally good in both colors.”</p>
<p>	She smiled, her vanity appeased. “What would you prefer? I trust your judgement.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the car pulled up behind the stadium, Scarlett couldn’t help but pluck at her skirt. She didn’t hate the dress, it was just so scratchy. But Walt had done a number on it--and on her--even if she felt a bit too much like Belle Watling for her tastes.</p>
<p>	She stepped out of the car, gladly accepting Walt’s assistance. Two-inch heels weren’t the end all, be all of terrible shoes, but combined with the floor-length dress and the unusual feeling of exiting a car, it was a wonder she didn’t trip and end up sprawled on the floor for all of Panem.</p>
<p>	Scarlett almost envied Frank, who was clad in a simple dark gray suit. He wasn’t trying to move around in a death trap.</p>
<p>	Somehow she made it to her assigned seat. The curtains hadn’t gone up yet. Frank sat on her right, silent and unmoving--but, Scarlett noted, his head held high. She waved to Sarah Bonnell and struck up a conversation with Raoul Picard, on her left, though she didn’t much feel like it.</p>
<p>	The curtains were lifted, and a blur of light and noise erupted around her as Caesar Flickerman walked onstage. He waved and smiled at the audience. Scarlett smiled, taking Walt’s advice and trying to emulate Rhett’s unwavering confidence. Discreetly, she caught her own eye in one of the huge screens--meant for the rest of Panem, of course--and was pleased to see that she looked exactly the part.</p>
<p>	The interviews passed quickly. District One was nothing, just two blips on her radar. Carey Ashburn garnered plenty of cheers. Rhett had the whole audience laughing, even most tributes. Scarlett pressed her lips together to avoid devolving into a fit of helpless giggles when he imitated his escort’s Capitol accent and mannerisms. She wasn’t successful.</p>
<p>	The rest of the tributes passed, not very memorable. For Melanie's sake, she tried to pay attention to what Charles said, but her heart wasn't in it. By the time Raoul reached the stage, Scarlett had come to her senses enough to be nervous. Still, she straightened her spine and tilted her jaw, folding her hands in her lap.</p>
<p>	Then Caesar called her name, and she walked over with grace that surprised even her. The armchair was cushy and soft, and she perched on the edge, despite wanting badly to relax into the chair.</p>
<p>	“What’s your name?” Caesar asked.</p>
<p>	“Scarlett O’Hara.”</p>
<p>	“From District Eleven. You’re sixteen, correct?”</p>
<p>	She nodded.</p>
<p>	“That is quite the dress you’re wearing,” he said. “Quite a change from the usual green we’ve all grown used to.”</p>
<p>	“Well, I can’t very well wear green in the arena, now can I?” she said. Caesar smiled, and she heard a few muffled laughs from the audience.</p>
<p>	After a few more simple questions that Scarlett dimpled her way through (take that, Rhett Butler!), Caesar got down to business. “What makes you think you can win? You’ve got a strong score, plenty of audience support, and, from what we hear, your pick of allies.” He raised an eyebrow, but Scarlett couldn’t tell if it was for the audience or for her.</p>
<p>	She glanced at the front row almost imperceptibly. Melanie smiled at her, waving her hand slightly. Go on, the gesture said.</p>
<p>	“I’ve been through hard times before,” she said slowly. “My dear mother passed just last year.” The words nearly caught in her throat, but she pushed them out. If using Ellen got her just one gift, it’d be worth it.</p>
<p>	“I’m so sorry.” Caesar’s sympathy was echoed by the audience, voiced in groans and gasps instead of words.</p>
<p>	Scarlett squared her shoulders, letting the last hints of her smile fade. “If I can stand that, I can stand anything the arena throws at me.” She would. She would stand it, no matter what it took. Starvation couldn’t get her; by now it was an old friend.</p>
<p>	Caesar said something else, and she was back to the perfect lady, fluttering her hands and giggling for the remaining minute of her time. At the buzzer, she rose gracefully to plenty of applause. She didn’t feel the rush of triumph she’d felt after the opening ceremony.</p>
<p>Frank’s interview didn’t sound like a total disaster, but Scarlett wasn’t exactly paying attention, too consumed with her own thoughts, or rather, trying to avoid said thoughts. She felt vaguely guilty, since she’d listened to him put the whole spiel together, but how was he going to know?</p>
<p>	District Twelve passed quickly--no surprise--and the anthem as well. The rest of the evening felt unreal to Scarlett. The flashing lights as she exited the stadium, Rhett’s eyes tracking her through the crowd, Belle’s sincere congratulations...none of it registered.</p>
<p>For hours, she’d been fighting off thoughts of tomorrow. She could think about tomorrow when tomorrow came, she told herself over and over again. Unfortunately, her head wouldn’t listen. Scarlett ended up singing old nursery rhymes to herself just to keep calm. Ellen’s calm teachings, Ruth’s admonishments, and her pride were the only things holding back a flood of panic that she wouldn’t let herself feel.</p>
<p>Scarlett wondered if she’d done enough. Would the richest men and women of the Capitol spend their money to keep her alive? Was she an audience favorite? Would Belle and Ashley do all they to ensure her survival?</p>
<p>	Just go to sleep, she told herself. You won’t have nightmares. Your imagination wouldn’t do that to you. Not tonight. The lie worked.</p>
<p>At least, until after midnight, when she gave up on sleep and trotted out to the kitchen, wrapping a robe around herself.</p>
<p>	Scarlett started when she saw Melly in the sitting room, mending a cushion that looked much too cheap to belong in the Training Center. Melanie let out a squeak and dropped the pillow, then patted the space next to her.</p>
<p>	“You must be terrified,” Melly said, for once no smile on her face. “What you’re feeling now, well, it’s the worst I’ve ever felt in my life.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett sat next to the older girl, picking up the cushion and setting it on her lap. “Did you ever kill anyone, Melly?” She immediately regretted the blunt question, even more so when Melanie paled noticeably.</p>
<p>	Melanie swallowed, hard. “Yes,” she whispered. “He was just a boy. I remember he kept bragging, how he was going to steal everyone’s supplies and win that way. I was alone--you remember, my year, how there were these...these hills? Nothing else. We had to rely on our mentors for water and food. I was alone, holed up with a backpack, a sword I didn’t know how to use, and the water my mentor had managed to get for me. He...he was going to take it, I’m sure it was the only water anyone had at that point.” Her hands shook. “So I…”</p>
<p>	“I’m glad you killed him,” Scarlett said before she could stop herself. “You had no choice.”</p>
<p>	“The sword went right through him.” The first tear slipped down Melanie’s cheek, but she swiped it away. “And now you’re going through it, and Charlie is going through it, and...and I got lucky once before with Ashley, but you and Charlie can’t both make it out.” Melanie straightened and wiped her eyes. “How silly of me. Of course I didn’t know Ashley very well back then, and I’m supposed to be reassuring you, not scaring you more.”</p>
<p>	Melly opened her arms and Scarlett fell into her embrace, reminded all too much of her mother. Even the lemony scent was the same. All the same, before the tears could bubble to the surface, she broke free.</p>
<p>	“Thank you, Melly,” she said. “It helped.” At least, it eased her conscience. If a woman as cloyingly sweet as Melanie Hamilton had it in her to stab a man, she, Scarlett O’Hara, had nothing to fear.</p>
<p>	“Oh, Scarlett, do promise to look out for Charlie?”</p>
<p>	How on Earth was she supposed to do that?</p>
<p>	“Of course, Melly.” Scarlett wanted to slap herself. With her luck, Charlie’d be the last tribute standing and she’d have to kill him, with Melanie watching.</p>
<p>	She got another bear hug, but shrugged out of it quickly this time. “Thank you, Melly. I’m going to try and sleep. You should too.”</p>
<p>	“Oh, that won’t work, darling.” Melanie’s bright smile wasn’t fooling anyone. “Goodnight.”</p>
<p>	That night, for the first time in a very long time, Scarlett prayed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Twelve to Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was running, running through some kind of fog. Every breath she took, she choked on it, but still she ran. Something was there, something she needed to find.</p><p>	Scarlett sat up straight, panting. Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her room was lit by the sunrise, the sun just peeking over the city skyline.</p><p>	She threw her blankets to the floor and swung her legs over the side of her bed. No point in delaying it.</p><p>	The moment Scarlett thought about what “it” meant, she wanted to crawl back under the blankets and hide there until she turned old and gray.</p><p>	I won’t think about it now, she told herself. Methodically, she dressed, combed her hair, cleaned her teeth.</p><p>	Scarlett almost went to the sitting room, to see if Melanie was still there, still mending that cushion, but then she remembered the older woman’s tears and the hugs that had almost made her cry. There would be no crying today. Death was in the cards, but she would not shed a tear.</p><p>	With nothing else to do, she ordered a huge breakfast. Grits, broth, eggs, biscuits, sausages, every juice she could think of and then some. She knew hunger, but the less of it she had to deal with the better.</p><p>	Scarlett ate slowly, as if finishing her meal meant the quiet dawn would end and be replaced by the Games. But she’d never been able to eat slowly, no matter how many times Ruth had slapped her hands or asked her to stop shoveling pork into her mouth like she was starving.</p><p>	She left her room, sipping her fourth glass of water, and immediately bumped into Belle, her water sloshing over her sleeve. Undeterred, she kept walking, Belle at her side.</p><p>	“Have you eaten?” Belle asked softly.</p><p>	Something stuck in Scarlett’s throat. “Yes,” she croaked, taking another sip of water. The feeling didn’t go away. “Where’s Frank?” That reminded her--she needed to check, see if any official alliances with other districts had been formed.</p><p>	“He’s in the dining room.”</p><p>	“I need to speak with Ashley.” There--cool, calm, businesslike.</p><p>	“About?”</p><p>	“I suppose it’s your department as well. Are there...have any mentors reached out to you or Ashley?”</p><p>	Belle shook her head. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>	Scarlett set her jaw., ignoring the blush settling across her cheeks “It’s fine.” Never mind, not her cheeks--her whole damn face was bright red. She thought about dumping what was left of her water on it, but decided against it.</p><p>	They had reached the sitting room. Melanie wasn’t there, but the cushion on the sofa looked good as new.</p><p>	Later, Scarlett figured that she’d said goodbye to Melanie, Ashley, and Belle, then gotten dressed in her uniform with Walt, and finally stepped onto her plate and been launched into the arena.</p><p>	At the time, it felt as if she’d been looking at the cushion one moment, then a thundering waterfall the next.</p><p> </p><p>Claudius Templesmith’s voice rang in her ears, counting down the seconds until she could leave her plate. Scarlett whipped her head around, trying to get her bearings. She needed a knife and some kind of supply bag. Damn Ashley! He hadn’t given her one bit of advice.</p><p>	Arranged in a semicircle around the Cornucopia, each tribute stood on golden circles nearly swallowed up by knee-high grass. A fast-moving river lay to the right, thanks to the waterfall, and a forest to the left.</p><p>	Scarlett turned her focus to the Cornucopia. The forest was her best bet, and the Career tributes--namely, Districts 1 and 2--would set up camp right around here, or on the riverbank. She had thirty seconds to come up with a plan and tamp down the panic rising in her.</p><p>	A knife lay twenty meters away, glinting on a bedroll. Not bad. She angled herself towards it. That would have to do.</p><p>	Ten seconds left. She’d always beaten Brent and Stuart racing in the field. This wouldn’t be any different.</p><p>	The bell sounded and she was off, hurtling towards that knife. Five seconds later, she palmed the knife and was just reaching for the bedroll when something smacked her in the face and fell into her lap.</p><p>	For a horrible moment, every fear she’d had exploded to the surface. I’m going to die, she thought.</p><p>	Then she realized someone had thrown her a backpack, and that same someone was dragging her to her feet.</p><p>	Scarlett glanced up at Rhett Butler’s face, calm and collected as ever, a spear and bag thrown over his shoulder. She shot to her feet and yanked her hand away, turning her head back and forth, trying to gauge the danger. It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds since the Games had begun.</p><p>Too much. Too much was happening at once. Rhett’s warm hand, once more closing around her wrist. People rushing all around them as she slowly moved with Rhett.</p><p>Charles Hamilton caught her eye for a moment before the girl from District 7 pulled her axe out of his shoulder.</p><p>That did it. Scarlett ran, pulling Rhett behind her for a moment before he caught up with her. She slung her bag over her shoulder and shoved the knife in her belt, letting Rhett lead her to the trees. She could hear the occasional scream, the clang of weapons, the pants of others running into the forest.</p><p>Rhett didn’t stop running for another ten minutes, when he slowed to a walk. Scarlett tensed--it would be easy for him to kill her. She slipped her knife into her hand, but Rhett just laughed, more breathily than normal.</p><p>“Really, my dear, if I were going to kill you I would have let you keep standing stock still in a warzone.”</p><p>She glared at him. “Are we allies now?”</p><p>	“I should think so. Or did you want to work alone? Silly me, I suppose you really did want to be good friends with Sarah Bonnell.”</p><p>Scarlett thought hard about walking away, but if she were honest with herself, he was her best chance at survival. He had helped her. She should at least stick around and return the favor.</p><p>Still, it was hard to force the words, “No, we’re allies” out of her mouth.</p><p>“Good. I didn’t have time to check what each of us had. I think it’d be best if we took inventory, so that we can return to the river before we die of thirst on the off-chance there’s no water in either of our bags.”</p><p>They each pulled items out of their packs, one by one. Scarlett sighed in relief when Rhett’s yielded a quart of water, and again when hers had a full half-gallon.</p><p>	“No matches or anything like that,” Rhett said cheerfully when Scarlett pulled out the last item in her bag, dried fruit. “But we do have a hideous silver blanket.”</p><p>	“Now I really wish we had matches.”</p><p>	“Oh, chin up, Scarlett.” He zipped his bag. “I’m sure it’s some kind of heat-trapping fabric. Too ugly for it to be anything else.”</p><p>	“Melanie would know,” she said absentmindedly. At the confused look on Rhett’s face, she added, “District Eight.”</p><p>	“That’s right.” Rhett paused, looking around. Scarlett automatically did the same. “You ready? Jogging for a day might be tough on you.”</p><p>	“I’ll be fine,” she said stubbornly.</p><p>	“I’m sure.”</p><p>	While they ran, periodically checking for other tributes, they didn’t strike up a conversation. The silence was only broken by the soft tumbling of water in the distance. Scarlett had too much time to think, particularly about the man beside her.</p><p>	Why on earth had he helped her, in his own exasperating way? He’d never formally expressed any interest in partnering with her. It didn’t make sense. A few moonlit conversations and an eight from the Gamemakers couldn’t have convinced him.</p><p>	The panic Scarlett had been holding back through sheer force of will also made an appearance, coming over her in waves. How many lay dead at the Cornucopia? Was Melanie grieving? Had Raoul, Carey, Fanny lost their lives, too? Had Rhett’s interference been the thing to save her?</p><p>	And would he be the one to kill her?</p><p>	The first cannon sounded just as the sun began to set. Rhett held up a hand, and Scarlett nearly ran into it, annoyed. Silently, they counted off the shots.</p><p>	“Ten deaths,” Rhett said, flat.</p><p>	“Twelve to go,” she said, fighting to keep her tone even.</p><p>	He smiled crookedly, then began walking again. “Are we stopping?” she asked.</p><p>	“In a bit. We don’t have any kind of light, so it’s best if we don’t fumble around in the dark.” He raised his eyebrows. She fought a blush.</p><p>	“Don’t be an idiot, Rhett.” Scarlett wanted to mention that they hadn’t had a drop to drink, nor a bite to eat, but if he wasn’t bothered she wasn’t either.</p><p>	“Not an idiot, my dear, just keeping things light.” Rhett snickered, but Scarlett didn’t get the joke.</p><p>	“Whatever.” She tapped a tree absentmindedly, noticing its smooth, curvy surface.</p><p>	After a few minutes, Rhett plopped down under one of the reddish-gray trees and patted the ground next to him. She sat.</p><p>	“How are we going to ration our food and water?” he asked. “I haven’t seen another water source since we left the Cornucopia, and while it wouldn’t be difficult to find the waterfall, given that I can still hear it, the Career tributes have probably made it ground zero.”</p><p>	Scarlett wanted to ask exactly what ground zero meant, but his meaning was clear enough. “I can live on one or two small meals a day, but water is the real issue. Say we each have a cup a day, that’s...that’s only six days.”</p><p>	“You make the assumption that we’ll live that long.”</p><p>	“Oh, shut up.” She twisted the thin fabric of her shirt. “Food-wise, we should have the fruit in the morning and the real stuff at night, so we don’t make stupid decisions after dark.” Multiple instances of finding her father in the kitchen at three in the morning had taught her that lesson the hard way.</p><p>	“So we’re eating the rock-hard jerky now?” Rhett grinned and dumped the package in her lap. “Or perhaps the--oh, wait, nothing else. Hell, we haven’t even seen a goddamn rabbit yet.”</p><p>	“Language,” she chided him. “It’s not like we can cook anything.”</p><p>	“Please tell me you know what plants are edible and what aren’t.”</p><p>	Scarlett laughed. “I won’t tell you. You’ll just have to trust me.”</p><p>	Rhett gave her a queer look, then busied himself with trying to tear a piece of jerky in half. It took both of them to do the job.</p><p>	“Will we take watches?” Scarlett said, finally swallowing the last of her beef jerky. Rhett passed her the water, having taken a swallow himself.</p><p>	“Yeah, that’d be good.” He spread the blanket out on the ground while she quenched her thirst. “You go to bed after the national anthem, and I’ll wake you up when I think it’s been three hours.”</p><p>	She nodded. As if on cue, the anthem began, and they watched the sky quietly.</p><p>	Fanny, Sarah, the girl from 7, Charles. Other faces, too, but Frank and the girl from District 4 weren’t there. Scarlett didn’t know whether to be happy about that.</p><p>	“At least your girl wasn’t there,” she said, wrapping herself in the end of the silvery blanket. Rhett sat up next to her, shivering in the night air, but she wasn’t comfortable enough with him to offer to cuddle up.</p><p>	“She’s not my girl,” he said.</p><p>	“Well, I’m still glad.”</p><p>	He didn’t respond to that, and she drifted off into a far-too-easy sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“Scarlett.” Someone shoved her. “Move over.”</p><p>	“‘S it time for me to watch?”</p><p>	“No, I’m just freezing my ass off. I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities, but unless you want one of us to die of hypothermia I suggest you get rid of them quick.”</p><p>	She obliged. spreading the blanket over both of them instead of wrapping herself in half, though lying on the grass was much less comfortable, especially with the rock piercing her side. “You still on watch?”</p><p>	“Yes. Go back to sleep.” He propped himself up on his elbow. “I’ll wake you up.”</p><p>	What seemed like ten minutes later, a cannon sounded and she bolted upright.</p><p>	“I was just about to wake you,” Rhett said, amused. Why was his arm where her head had been? “You know, you’re a lot less grumpy asleep.”</p><p>	Scarlett glared at him, which only made him laugh. “Wake me up before dawn, all right?”</p><p>	“How am I supposed to know--”</p><p>	But Rhett had already closed his eyes. He still had a hint of a smile on his face, and his eyelashes were fluttering, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him, especially after a few minutes passed and the smile disappeared, replaced with a truly neutral look she'd never seen on his face--not a mask, not a smile or a frown.</p><p>	He looked like a little boy asleep. His constant awareness of everything around him disappeared, along with the tenseness of his face.</p><p>	Scarlett remembered she was supposed to watch for other tributes a bit too late for her liking. Sighing, she turned her head away from the enigma lying next to her. The enigma that she didn’t like much, she reminded herself.</p><p>	Still, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world when his arm flopped across her torso.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've learned something new about myself--I can't write action to save my life! I did have a lot of fun with other scenes, though.<br/>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Six to Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: semigraphic violence around halfway through the chapter. Recap in AN at the end!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time the stars began to disappear, Scarlett had counted four more cannons. Rhett hadn’t stirred, so she was left to wonder what in God’s name was going on. Had the Career tributes turned on one another, or worked as a pack to eliminate other scattered tributes? It was too early in the Games for someone to die of thirst or starve.</p><p>	Scarlett shook Rhett awake. He sat up instantly, his forehead smacking her jaw.</p><p>	“Ow!”</p><p>	“Sorry!” He rubbed his arms. “Oh, God, it’s cold. You were hogging.”</p><p>	“I was not!”</p><p>	Rhett just laughed and leaned against the tree. “Whatever you need to tell yourself. You want more sleep?”</p><p>	“But then you won’t have gotten much rest.”</p><p>	“I’m touched by your concern.”</p><p>	Scarlett’s chest swelled. “I don’t care. I’m going to sleep and you wake me up the moment you decide to eat.”</p><p>	“Will do, darling.”</p><p>	She rolled her eyes and spent a few fruitless hours feigning sleep. It was hard, with Rhett constantly moving around in an effort to warm himself up and throwing pebbles at the tree, not to mention carving at it with his knife. Could he be any louder?</p><p>	“Rise and shine,” he said finally, dangling half a dried apple in front of her nose.</p><p>	She grunted and tore off a small section, letting it dissolve in her mouth. “Why has the tree been cut up?”</p><p>	“I figured you’d notice. Well, my dear, I’ve discovered something rather grim when we look at our chances of survival.”</p><p>	“What now?” she sighed, fighting off the rising panic.</p><p>	Rhett took a bite of his dried apple. “These trees aren’t actually wood. Well, they are, but it’s been kind of...crystallized. I don’t know how to explain it in layman’s terms.”</p><p>	“Shut up,” she said, too tired to give him a proper tongue lashing.</p><p>	“Anyways, that's why there's hardly any branches on any of them. And it can’t burn. No wonder we didn’t get matches. They wouldn’t be helpful in the least.”</p><p>	“Oh.”</p><p>	“Precisely.”</p><p>	“So if it weren’t for this blanket…”</p><p>	“I’m not saying we’d be dead. After all, there are two of us.” He raised an eyebrow.</p><p>	Scarlett tried to puzzle out the connection, but failed. “Mm-hm. Do you think that’s how all those tributes died?”</p><p>	“What?” Rhett said, dropping his apple.</p><p>	“I forgot to mention it. Something like four cannons went off while you were asleep.”</p><p>	He balled up the blanket and stuffed it into his pack. “We should get moving, on the off-chance there was some big fight near us. Need any water?”</p><p>	Scarlett took a few sips, then passed it back to him. “Can we try to find a river, or a pond, or something today?”</p><p>	“The only safe drinking water will be that river--the one that runs from the waterfall. I’d guarantee it.” Rhett stuck the now half-empty bottle in her backpack, then extended a hand. She scrambled up on her own.</p><p>	“Because the Gamemakers want to make things difficult for us?”</p><p>	“Because fast-moving, cold water is cleaner than some stagnant pond.”</p><p>	Scarlett nodded slowly. “So we’re going to the river?”</p><p>	“No, my dear. We’re going to the waterfall.”</p><p>	They set off in silence, but she couldn’t help the gnawing worry at her core that she couldn’t quite identify, nor set apart from the fear she’d been steadfastly ignoring for days now.</p><p>	“Rhett?” she said quietly. Somehow, she knew the cad would reassure her, even if it were only in his annoying, mean way.</p><p>	“What?”</p><p>	Scarlett lost her nerve entirely. What would she even say; how on earth would she ask him to what, make her feel better about something she couldn’t define? They were allies, acquaintances--she balked at the term “friends.” She couldn’t trust anyone, Scarlett reminded herself, and certainly not Rhett.</p><p>	“What’s your favorite color?”</p><p>	He looked at her quizzically. “Green, I suppose, or maybe blue.”</p><p>	“Why?”</p><p>	“What color is the ocean?”</p><p>	“Oh. That’s right, you’re District Four.”</p><p>	“What’s yours, wheat-beige?”</p><p>	Scarlett bristled at the barb. “It’s red.”</p><p>	Rhett threw back his head and laughed. Scarlett frantically swatted his arm, and he sobered immediately. “I’m sorry, my dear. I was simply overcome by your extreme vanity.”</p><p>	Her cheeks reddened. “That’s not why. My real name isn’t even Scarlett!”</p><p>	The triumphant gleam in her eyes must have been too much. Rhett bit his lip to keep himself from laughing, but his crooked grin wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Enlighten me.”</p><p>	“My mother started calling me Scarlett when I was about three.” Remembering the many times Gerald had recounted the story, guffawing with laughter as Ellen sat stiffly across from him, Scarlett tensed. “Why isn’t important. Scarlett is my middle name, my first name is Katie.”</p><p>	“That doesn’t suit you at all.”</p><p>	She managed a smile, pushing the memory away. “It really doesn’t.”</p><p>	“You’re going to have to tell me why you became Scarlett one day.”</p><p>	“I don’t think so.”</p><p>	“Did you steal your mother’s makeup?”</p><p>	“No.” Ellen had never worn makeup; now-distant memories of berry juice and saving up money for the store near Victor's Village were brought to the surface.</p><p>	“Hm. Did you smear tomato juice on your sister’s face?”</p><p>	“I’ll have to try that someday.”</p><p>	They continued in that easy way. Scarlett forgot what she’d been so worried about; she even managed to ignore her surroundings for a while. When he wasn’t trying to annoy her, Rhett wasn’t so bad to talk to.</p><p>	Rhett was in the middle of telling her about the time he’d found a shark while fishing and she was in the middle of telling him he was lying when a knife whizzed by his face, getting stuck in the tree ahead of them.</p><p>	He spun and held his spear in front of him instead of at his side. Scarlett held her knife loosely in her right hand and ready to throw, shoulder to shoulder with Rhett. She tensed, ready to move at a moment’s notice, adrenaline rushing through her.</p><p>	In the bright afternoon light, she could see a figure, perched atop a smaller tree than the rest.</p><p>	Rhett threw his spear, knocking them down. Without hesitation, Scarlett sprinted about ten meters, nearly tripping over the gasping body of Raoul Picard. His body was curved around the spear in his side.</p><p>	Instinct took over, an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed. She knelt and dragged her blade across his throat, barely dodging the spray of blood. Was that supposed to happen? Unfazed, she pulled the spear out, setting it on the ground. Raoul groaned and Scarlett had to look away.</p><p>	Rhett reached her. “Is he dead?”</p><p>	“No cannon yet.” Her voice was steady.</p><p>	Raoul made another noise. Rhett inspected his spear, calm and cool as always. “The head’s not broken.” He tugged on her arm. “Come on.”</p><p>	“Does he have a bag with him?” she asked.</p><p>	Rhett flipped him over. Raoul didn’t make a sound. “Nope.”</p><p>	“Let’s leave, then,” she said, wiping her knife off on the grass and trying not to think too hard about it. She stood, then led the way, Rhett following behind her and wrenching Raoul’s knife out of the tree. They both flinched when the shot sounded through the strange woods.</p><p>	It took about an hour or so for the adrenaline to fade. I’m a murderer, she thought. Rhett had helped, in fact had truly killed Raoul, but Scarlett had sped up the process considerably. She told herself it would make her more attractive to sponsors, that the Capitol would take her seriously, but the tears were bubbling to the surface and if Rhett asked her a question the lump in her throat would surely prevent her from answering.</p><p>	Thankfully, he didn’t try to start a conversation. He just plodded on, his face carefully blank, but whenever he’d reach up to move an errant hair out of his face, his arm would shake.</p><p>	Scarlett longed for the ease of the morning, when he had made her forget everything. Twilight was setting in, and eventually she picked a patch of grass--the terrain had grown rockier--and tugged on his arm, sitting down and pulling out the pack of jerky.</p><p>	They ate silently. She supposed Rhett was lost in his own thoughts. It felt strange--he always seemed perfectly capable and much older than he really was. Why, he was only two years older than she! Even if it felt like more most of the time.</p><p>	Scarlett gave him a shaky smile, and he returned it, the gleam missing from his eyes.</p><p>	The anthem began, and she found herself leaning against Rhett. Tonight, the girl from District 4 was there, along with Raoul and other faces with names she’d forgotten.</p><p>	“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.</p><p>	“Six to go,” he said. “Want first watch?”</p><p>	She nodded. “Get some rest.”</p><p>	Tonight wasn’t the kind of cold that went straight to your bones, but Scarlett shivered just the same. She couldn’t think about her first kill in the arena. What did her sisters think? What did Pa think? Wade? Ashley? Melanie?</p><p>	At the thought of Melly, Scarlett nearly burst into tears. She’d failed. Oh, Melly’d forgive her, say that there was no chance for her to save Charlie, but the guilt remained.</p><p>	Charles’ death repeated itself behind her eyes. She just counted herself lucky that the girl from District 7 had gotten him from behind. Otherwise she’d probably still be picking dried blood off her face.</p><p>	Scarlett thought of the interviews being conducted in District 11. “The Games have been going pretty quick this year,” some Capitol reporter would say. “Are you worried for Scarlett?” Carreen, holding Wade, would say some nonsense about prayer and trust in God, and Suellen would nod, bags under her eyes, and Pa would have no idea that his daughter was fighting for her life and practically sharing a bed with a stranger.</p><p>	She shook. Huddling under the blanket was no use. Scarlett pushed her family out of her mind, but that left room for her current situation. She was seized with the sudden urge to scream.</p><p>	Had it been three hours? A half hour? She slapped Rhett’s face in an effort to wake him up anyway, suddenly terrified of sitting alone in the dark. She would have nightmares tonight, that was certain.</p><p>	“What?” He bolted upright.</p><p>	“Nothing, I...has it been three hours?”</p><p>	“How would I know?” He grinned, but in the dark Scarlett couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not.</p><p>	“I’m sorry. I’m just a bit--”</p><p>	“Me too. It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? Knowing you, purposefully, snuffed out a man’s life? And even worse, knowing that if you hadn’t done it they would have done the same without hesitation.”</p><p>	“Have you ever killed anyone, Rhett? Before today, I mean.”</p><p>	He shrugged. “We’re being filmed at the moment, my dear. Save your questions for a more private moment.” Even in the dim moonlight, she could just make out that stupid, shit-eating grin.</p><p>	She rolled her eyes. “You are the most insufferable cad I’ve ever met.”</p><p>	“One of these days you’ll look back and appreciate my sense of humor.”</p><p>	“I most certainly will not. I’m going to sleep.” She turned away and laid down on the grass, pulling the blanket around herself, already dreading what awaited her.</p><p> </p><p>Fog surrounded her. She tripped over her feet, over rocks, but kept running, driven by something she didn’t understand. A need that tugged at her core, pulling her somewhere. She coughed--the fog was difficult to breathe in. Just as the ache in her stomach eased, just as she saw that shadowy figure, she realized the mist swirling around her wasn’t mist at all.</p><p>	It was smoke.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Four more tributes die during the night. Rhett tells Scarlett that the forest is made of petrified wood. On their way to the waterfall, they are attacked by Raoul Picard. Together, they kill him, though they are both shaken up by the experience. Scarlett has another nightmare, realizing that in her dream, the mist around her is actually smoke.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Let's Have it Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As you may have guessed by my username, I'm a cellist. I revisited a few cello concertos I played a few years back. This chapter is influenced by the Casadesus C Minor concerto--I definitely recommend you listen to it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scarlett woke to fingers brushing across her face and strong arms encircling her, a soft voice humming words she couldn’t make out.</p><p>	For a blissful moment, she wondered where she was. Scarlett took one look at Rhett’s coal-black eyes and the illusion was shattered.</p><p>	“Bad dreams?” he said, tucking the blanket more securely around her.</p><p>	“Mm-hmm.” He smiled softly. Instinctively, she snuggled closer. “What time is it?”</p><p>	“Dawn.” Rhett nodded towards the pink clouds streaking across the sky.</p><p>	“You should have woken me.”</p><p>	“You didn’t need any prodding.” He laughed quietly, but Scarlett couldn’t find it in her to be angry. She tilted her face towards him, trying to gauge how tired he was.</p><p>	Rhett stiffened and looked away, his smile now a blank mask. “Well, my dear, I hope you’re pleased with yourself. Thanks to you, the whole arena has gotten a rather early wakeup call, and unless we want to be on the receiving end of six angry tributes, I suggest we get moving.”</p><p>	What had she done now? Scarlett wondered, unwrapping the blanket from around her shoulders. The littlest things set him off, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why. She smoothed her tangled hair as best she could. Once they got to the river, she was taking a two-hour bath. Rhett could laugh all he wanted.</p><p>	Though he didn’t look particularly humorous. She’d barely settled her pack on her shoulders when he started dragging her the same way they’d been going.</p><p>	“Did anyone die last night? I didn’t hear anything.”</p><p>	“Me neither.” He almost tripped over a dead tree, but recovered smoothly. Was it crystallized? She wanted to ask, if only to get rid of this stilted, uneasy quiet, but he’d just berate her for her supposed stupidity.</p><p>	Was Rhett secretly mourning the girl from District 4? Never one to be subtle, Scarlett blurted, “Are you all right?”</p><p>	He rolled his eyes. “We’re in the Hunger Games, darling. I’m simply dandy.”</p><p>	“You know what I mean.” She thought about putting a hand on his arm, but decided against it and let her hand fall to her side. “The girl from your district. It must be hard.”</p><p>	Rhett laughed, but something Scarlett couldn’t make out was underneath. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met?”</p><p>	He hadn’t said much. She really only remembered rage, marked by an interlude of humiliation at the hands of the man beside her. “No.”</p><p>	“Yes, I forgot, you were quite preoccupied.” He nearly spat the word out. “My father wanted me to marry her a few months back.”</p><p>	“You’re only eighteen!” Scarlett wanted to say, then remembered how she’d been hoping for Suellen to get out of the house with a new last name at the ripe old age of fifteen. She stayed silent.</p><p>	Rhett shrugged. “He had his reasons, I’ll give the old man that. He thought I’d have less of a chance in the Games, that no one would rig it against me--don’t act like it doesn’t happen, you know it does--if I was married. A foolish hope, but he’s always believed that the rich shouldn’t be reaped, because we’re needed in our districts.” He paused, rolling his eyes. “That was one of the many things we disagreed on. I took out tesserae even if we didn’t really need it. I always thought it would be so...thrilling, to be here.”</p><p>	“And now?”</p><p>	He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t been what I expected. But my rather tense relationship with my father truly soured when, apparently, I compromised a girl by staying out too late. I didn’t know the tide was cause for a city-wide scandal, but I was wrong. My father saw it as a three-for-one deal. Get rid of me, save at least one heir from the Games, and wipe away the stain on the ‘spotless’ Butler name. Of course, my family history is anything but. As you can see from the nonexistent ring on my finger, I refused and my father struck me from the family tree.”</p><p>	“I’m sorry,” Scarlett said. What would she do without the memories of her parents how they used to be, without Carreen’s quiet support? Why, even Suellen had her uses. No matter how hard she tried, she realized, she hadn’t been able to block them from her thoughts in the arena. They would be with her till the moment she died. Which might be very soon. For the first time, she pitied the man beside her.</p><p>	“Oh, don’t be,” Rhett said airily, but she caught the edge in his voice. No matter what he pretended, it hadn’t been easy for him.</p><p>	“Look on the bright side,” she said cheerfully, taking his arm and leading him as energetically as she could, trying to channel her inner Melanie Hamilton. “Now they’ve got no choice but to root for you. And you’re better off without a father like that anyway.”</p><p>	“He wouldn’t root for me if I were in the top two,” Rhett said. “What about your father? Is he cheering you on from home?”</p><p>	It was Scarlett’s turn to close herself down. “I’m sure he is.”</p><p>	“Don’t tell me you’ve been disowned too!”</p><p>	“Of course I haven’t.” She swatted his arm. “Pa wouldn’t do that. It's just that ever since last year...” Maybe if she left it open, he wouldn't question it? When he opened his mouth, she cringed in anticipation--how could she have forgotten, it was Rhett she was dealing with, and he never let anything go.</p><p>	“I suppose the death of his wife hit him rather hard,” he said thoughtfully. “Is he still grieving?”</p><p>	“Er, yes. He hasn’t been the same since.”</p><p>	The conversation died down as they both focused on navigating the strange terrain. Rocks were becoming more common, as were dead trees. She figured they were getting close, but Rhett didn’t seem relieved--in fact, he kept looking around nervously, as if waiting for something to happen. She didn’t press him; after all, she had plenty to think about already without his worries adding to her load.</p><p>	The waterfall had gone from a low rumble to a dull roar. Rhett climbed a tree, and though he didn’t see anything, he was confident that by tomorrow they’d be able to replenish their water. In a few days, reaching the water would become a matter of survival, not a goal.</p><p>	“Why haven’t we received sponsorship gifts?” she asked as Rhett reached the ground. “We both did well at our interviews, didn’t we? And neither of us got abysmal scores. We wouldn’t have to risk running into the Careers if Ashley would just send something.”</p><p>	He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re allies. That means our mentors have to agree on something to send. Thomas and I talked it over, and he said that he’d send water if I didn’t have any by day two, and he’d send more no matter the circumstances by the morning of day four.”</p><p>	Scarlett’s cheeks turned bright red. “You’re implying that Ashley--”</p><p>	“Why are you so offended?” Rhett asked, leaning against a tree. “We’ll know for sure tomorrow. I’d bet money that Ashley’s being difficult.”</p><p>	“Ashley’s never done anything to you. And he’d never refuse me help.”</p><p>	“He wouldn’t? Why is that?”</p><p>	Too late, Scarlett realized she’d talked herself into a corner. Ashley had refused her help. Her heart was quick to counter it: he couldn’t help with that, he would have if he could. But a niggling doubt remained. And she couldn’t even tell the skunk in front of her why Ashley would help her, would always help her if he was able!</p><p>	“No, really, my dear, I’m truly curious. Let's have it out.” Rhett leaned closer to her. Scarlett shivered. “Shh, if you speak very quietly and cover your lips--” he cupped a hand over his mouth “--no one will hear you. Then you can tell me off. He loves you, right? Despite him being engaged and giving up everything for his fiance?”</p><p>	“Shut up,” she hissed, shielding her mouth. “There’s no reason for him to keep your mentor from giving you gifts.”</p><p>	“Maybe he’s jealous of the woman he loves so dearly,” Rhett said.</p><p>	“Well, maybe he is!” She rethought her strategy and added hastily, “Oh, no, he couldn’t be. Why on Earth would he be jealous of you?”</p><p>	Though she couldn’t see most of his face, she knew from his eyes that his blank mask was firmly affixed. Great. Now he’d insult her till he turned blue in the face.</p><p>	“Don’t you know anything about men, Scarlett?” She flinched at the nasty tone of his voice. “Men only want one thing, and your precious white knight is no exception. He’s worried I’ll--how to put this delicately, as to keep your innocence intact--he’s worried I’ll take advantage of you, and he won’t be the first to do it.”</p><p>	“You’ve never met the man!”</p><p>	“The way you looked at each other after your interview was enough for me. You’re naive, my dear.”</p><p>	“Ashley spends time doing other things with me. He’s not like you, with your little remarks and disgusting comments! I bet that’s why you bothered me incessantly at the Cornucopia.”</p><p>	Rhett rubbed his face. “I allied with you because I thought you were intelligent and had a real shot at winning. I won’t lie, Mr. Wilkes’ objectives are not dissimilar from mine. But I am seriously doubting my decision at the moment.”</p><p>	“Then go!” she screamed. “I don’t want you here! No one would want a cad like you with them.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them, but there was no taking them back and no reaction from him but a few measured words.</p><p>	“Do you really want me to go? Leave you to the wolves?”</p><p>	Scarlett opened her mouth to tell him to go to the devil, but stopped herself just in time. She wasn’t a fourteen-year-old playing with Brent Tarleton’s feelings anymore. Her best chance at survival stood in front of her. Pride had to wait. It wouldn't matter to her whether she'd bested Rhett Butler when she was lying dead in a ditch.</p><p>	“No,” she said quietly. “No, I don’t want you to go.”</p><p>	“Well, don’t be surprised if there are no gifts tomorrow. I personally expect to shrivel into a husk before a silver parachute comes along.”</p><p>	She said nothing, too occupied with her own thoughts of Ashley. Rhett was wrong, she knew it. Ashley loved her. It was all that had kept her going for the last year.</p><p>Even though, since arriving in the Capitol, she hadn’t thought of him much. No, that wasn’t quite right. Ever since that first night, he hadn’t been first in her thoughts, and once the Games had officially begun, he’d scarcely crossed her mind.</p><p>	Scarlett had just been distracted, that was all. The stress of a life-threatening situation would do that to anyone. It didn’t mean anything.</p><p>	Still, as Rhett sat down on one of the rare patches of grass and dug out the last of the beef jerky, she felt uneasy, as if she were missing something right in front of her.</p><p>	“Something bad’s going to happen tomorrow,” he said when the sky showed no deaths. “Today was too quiet. I’ll take the first watch.”</p><p>	Scarlett offered him half the blanket, but he waved her off. “Get some rest,” he said, no inflection whatsoever. She rolled over, doing her best to ignore him, but she could still feel his presence behind her.</p><p>Sleep didn’t come to Scarlett that night. Twice, she woke to the sound of a cannon. Had tributes crossed paths, or had the Gamemakers employed one of their “strategies?” Just a few years before, they’d flooded the arena. She wondered briefly if it had been a good idea to get closer to the waterfall.</p><p>	Both times, she’d look up and find Rhett telling her to go back to sleep, and she'd oblige. But the third time she woke, heart pounding and fist pressed to her mouth after running through smoke towards something that she couldn’t quite make out, he was nowhere to be found.</p><p>	Scarlett told herself not to panic. He had to use the bathroom, was all. The moon, full and bright, rested high in the sky--her time to watch, she guessed. Maybe he’d just gone to get some rest away from her, thanks to their argument?</p><p>	It was then that her eyes alighted on the singular backpack beside her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm way too proud of this chapter for it being a chapter of absolutely nothing happening, even if it is a bit OOC for Rhett to talk about himself.<br/>So, after this big spurt of creativity, updates might slow down--winter isn't easy for me, as you all know. I'll update as often as I can, I promise.<br/>Thank you all for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Maybe, Maybe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fun fact: this chapter wasn't supposed to exist--originally, it was going to be a small part of a larger chapter, which is why I updated so quickly. I like it better this way. (I am so sorry for the complete and utter lack of an update schedule.)<br/>TW for violence (and some language, but if you've gotten this far, you're probably used to it by now). Summary will be at the end!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Scarlett, it seemed an eternity passed as she stared at her pack silently, trying to process what had just happened.</p><p>	Rhett had abandoned her. Who knew how long ago. She could have died here, stabbed in her sleep. Only sheer luck had kept her around. She licked her lips, noting how dry they were. Oh God--had Rhett taken her water with him?</p><p>	Scarlett let out a tiny sigh of relief when her water bottle turned out to be half-full, just as it had been yesterday. She could survive two days, three if she had to.</p><p>	Thank goodness Scarlett had put a few restless hours’ sleep behind her. Until she found a safe space, she wasn’t going to do that again.</p><p>	As she wadded up the blanket and stuffed it into her pack, her mind kept running circles around Rhett, and, more precisely, the tangled mess of emotion in her chest, like Ellen's sewing box after Wade had gotten into it. Scarlett had never analyzed herself, and she didn’t intend to start now, but once she’d started on her journey, following the ever-growing roar, there was no Rhett to puzzle over, or talk to, or be annoyed by. No worries over basic survival, at least, nothing more than she’d dealt with over the past few days.</p><p>	So Scarlett began pulling at the strings. She felt angry, certainly, for more reasons than she could count. At Rhett for leaving her, for not even telling her and stealing away into the night. Even some directed at Ashley, though Scarlett didn’t care to quantify, for refusing to help her that night in the sitting room (had that been a week ago? It felt like an eternity) and for failing completely in his duties as his mentor. She couldn’t remember much about last year’s Hunger Games, but she had a hunch District 11 had been out of the running early on. If her mother hadn’t died, she would have known, but then if her mother hadn’t died so much of Scarlett’s life would be different.</p><p>	Any other time, Scarlett would have torn herself up with guilt at the very idea of being angry with Ashley. But now, tromping through rocks and wood that didn’t burn and practically waiting to be killed, she didn’t find the grace that had enabled her to overlook any minor annoyances. Did that make her unladylike? At the moment, she didn’t care. She could ponder that later.</p><p>	Once she exhausted her rage, she had no idea what the made up the rest of the mess. Her limbs were heavy, and her eyes hurt. But Scarlett hadn’t slept more than two hours, and dawn was breaking. An easy problem to diagnose.</p><p>A cannon sounded, and she jumped.</p><p>	She couldn’t be sad about this, of all that had happened in the last few days, could she? Scarlett refused to cry because Rhett Butler had decided he was too good for her. Maybe she felt a bit hurt, was all.</p><p>	Maybe she felt a lot hurt. And maybe she missed him.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>	Suddenly hungry, she slung her backpack onto her side and unzipped it, reaching for the remnants of the dried fruit. Not stopping, she tipped the contents of the plastic bag into her mouth and grimaced. Could dried fruit go stale? she wondered, crumpling up the plastic and throwing it on the ground.</p><p>	Scarlett zipped up her bag and settled it onto her shoulders. Glancing at the sky--cloudy, but rain didn't look likely and wouldn’t be clean--she failed to notice one of the now-common branches strewn across the forest floor.</p><p>	“Shit,” she hissed, sprawled uncomfortably on the rocky terrain. Pain shot up her left leg. Quickly, cringing at the spectacle she’d just made on national television, she stood up, only to fall back down again when her left foot barely supported her weight. Now the whole left side of her body screamed in agony.</p><p>	“Shit!” she almost shouted, controlling herself just in time. The last thing--the absolute thing--Scarlett needed was a tribute finding her in this state. Paranoid, she drew her knife.</p><p>	Unfortunately, she thought, looking at the branch, she had no idea how to carve wood and as such a walking stick would not be possible. Until the waterfall, or some other arbitrary goal she could set for herself, she had to make do.</p><p>	Cursing everything and everyone she could think of, Scarlett hauled herself up and hobbled toward the now-deafening rapids.</p><p>	At least she didn’t have to think about Rhett Butler anymore. Now her goddamn foot took up every spare thought. What part of it hurt, anyhow? Her ankle, probably, but ankle injuries took time to heal, time Scarlett simply did not have. She couldn’t afford to laze about for two weeks. And if it was broken, she might as well lay down and die right here.</p><p>	A rustling behind her. She whirled around, pointing her blade wildly and hissing at the pain in her left foot.</p><p>	“Scarlett O’Hara,” a familiar voice crooned. She stiffened.</p><p>	“I know you’re there, Carey.” Somehow, Scarlett kept her voice even and honeyed, but her heart thumped so loudly she wondered if the effect had been ruined altogether.</p><p>	He emerged from an oddly placed cluster of rocks. Had she stumbled on the goddamn Career tributes with no backup and zero ability to fight back?</p><p>	Quickly, as Carey got closer, still grinning in that slimy way of his, she ticked through the Careers that were left. Fanny Elsing, District 1, had died at the Cornucopia, and whoever the male tribute from District 1 had died that night. The girl from District 2 could be anywhere. The odds were not in her favor.</p><p>	“Let’s talk it out, Carey,” she said frantically. “I thought you didn’t want allies, and yet here you are. Perhaps--”	</p><p>	“I didn’t think you had the mettle. I thought you’d die on the first day.” Carey stopped twenty paces in front of her, his hand gripping a spear loosely. Scarlett gulped. “But we can’t be allies, since I don’t want to make a group of three. I know he’s here somewhere, Scarlett. He has unfinished business with me. Anyone who’d partner with him...I’m not swallowing your little-girl act anymore."</p><p>	She honestly thought about mentioning Rhett’s betrayal to get on Ashburn’s good side, but decided against it. The stronger she looked, the better.</p><p>	“I’ll kill you quickly. Don’t worry.”</p><p>	Fear like she’d never known filled her. No Rhett to take the blow or prop her up. Sixteen years had come down to this, a girl who probably couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs against an eighteen-year-old sack of muscles. Scarlett had to act now.</p><p>	Carey had raised his spear about three inches when she reached him, sticking her knife through his heart and jumping back. She wouldn’t make the mistake she’d made with Raoul. Carey’s spear grazed her side, but Scarlett felt no pain, not even in her ankle.</p><p>	She turned away, unable to watch a man drown in a pool of blood. Belatedly, she realized that leaving the knife in hadn’t been the brightest idea--Carey’s death would be prolonged. But going back and ripping the blade out of him was a worse plan.</p><p>	Scarlett lifted the edge of her shirt, trying to see where the spear had struck her. She sent a prayer to the gray skies--no blood, for the spear hadn’t gotten further than the first layer of skin.</p><p>	The cannon sounded, and she stepped gingerly over his body. She’d be damned if she let the hovercraft take her knife. Yanking it out of his prone form with a squelch that made her cringe, she hopped awkwardly over to what had been the Careers’ camp, hoping to find supplies of some kind.</p><p>	Nothing. Too late, Scarlett turned to raid Carey’s body, but thanks to her ankle was only in time to see his body lifted into thin air.</p><p>	She stamped her foot in frustration, then immediately doubled over, yelping curses, not caring who heard her anymore.</p><p>	Waterfall, she remembered through a haze of agony. Water would help. Running cool, clean water over her foot would numb the pain.</p><p>	Tears streamed down her cheeks now as she half-walked, half crawled towards the roar. Why, she could see it through the trees. Everything was going to be just fine.</p><p>	Dimly, Scarlett registered that it wasn’t even noon and the day already felt like a year.</p><p>	Eventually, she had to hold onto trees to stay upright, dragging her left leg behind her. Walking on it definitely didn't aid the healing process. At this point, all of Panem could laugh at her for days on end--she’d officially given up on looking strong and untouchable.</p><p>	Who was even left to see her? “Six to go,” Rhett had said the other day. Two more had died last night, and another this morning--had her estranged ally killed the girl from District 2? Had that been the “unfinished business” Carey had mentioned? She’d get back to that later. And now Ashburn was dead. That left four total, counting herself and Rhett, assuming Rhett hadn’t died this morning.</p><p>	Thoughts of Rhett’s swarthy skin paling to chalk-white, of his dark eyes staring into nothing, filled Scarlett with a coldness she was anxious to shake off. I wonder if Frank is still alive, she thought quickly. She almost hoped not. By now it would be suicide to forge a new alliance, and the idea of sticking a knife into Frank didn’t sound too pleasant either.</p><p>	Scarlett clambered over a rotting log, a heaving sob escaping her chest at the burning sensation taking over her leg. Another sob followed, this time one of relief at the sight of the river right in front of her, no trees obscuring her vision. She had made it.</p><p>	Filled with new energy, she scooted across the rocks. Her pants were practically shredded. What kind of ground was this, all these sharp pebbles? It reminded her of the mayor’s house, and its long gray driveway that to her knowledge had never been used.</p><p>	Once on the muddy riverbank, past caring about cleanliness, Scarlett took a hard look at the water. Would she be swept away if she were to stick her foot in, or would dumping water over it with the use of her bottle work better? As an experiment, she dipped her hand in. Yup--swinging her left foot into that? A death wish.</p><p>	She swallowed the last of her water and rolled up her practically-nonexistent pant leg, easing off her boot and sock. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes.</p><p>	Keeping a tight grip on her bottle, she held it so that it filled about three-quarters of the way, then drizzled it on her ankle. Not much better.</p><p>	Scarlett took a hard look at her foot--more specifically, the direction her foot pointed. Too far outward. Had it been dislocated, like her shoulder back when she had to patch Tara's roof after a thunderstorm last September? Lightly, she pushed it back to where it should be, and it stayed there. Not dislocated, then. If she crossed her fingers and hoped it wasn’t broken, she could confidently call it “sprained.”</p><p>	She shrugged her pack off her shoulders and propped her foot up on it, then wrapped it tightly in her muddy sock. Better than nothing. Gently, she eased her boot back on, barely holding back sharp cries. When was the last time she’d cried this much? It had been years. Scarlett barely resisted the temptation to lay down and sob about everything. Only the threat of the three tributes still at large kept her tears in check.</p><p>	There would be no walking, but she had strong arms--could she pull herself back to Carey Ashburn’s little cove? Probably not. She looked around, hoping for a legitimate spot where she could recuperate, if only for a few hours. About forty yards away, she spotted a scraggly hedge. A few scruffy bushes in the dirt was hardly the place to be, but it might have to be the place she’d stay.</p><p>	Ten excruciating minutes later--she hadn’t realized how helpful that adrenaline rush had been an hour ago--Scarlett had set up camp just on the edge of the forest. Here, she had a decent vantage point and some cover. It wasn’t going to get any better than this.</p><p>	If she heeded Ellen's motto for once, she could find one blessing--her boots were well-made, and the leather hugged every bit of her foot. Not for the first time, she wanted to thank Walt--the form-fitting leather meant her left foot would look right to other tributes, maybe even set her ankle in place.</p><p>	There would be no settling down to sleep, but at least water didn't count among her worries anymore. Sipping leisurely from her bottle, Scarlett wanted nothing more than to fall asleep--she had no energy left after being at the top of her game for ten hours.</p><p>	Oh, how she missed Rhett. She had to admit to herself that she’d trusted him with her life ever since he’d gotten her out of the Cornucopia bloodbath without a scratch. He felt close to her in a way that was alien to her--the only other person who’d seen her as herself had been her father. For her mother and Ashley, Scarlett had always been on her best behavior, and she’d never taken the time to get to know her sisters well enough to judge on that front. But Rhett, though she hadn’t known him for long, was able to read her like a book. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.</p><p>	Her ankle throbbed, and she gasped, holding back yet more tears.</p><p>	“Please, Ashley,” she said, voice cracking despite being fully hydrated for the first time in days. “If you’re going to help me at all, now is the time. Something for the pain. Please.”</p><p>	Scarlett waited for hours, repeating her request, a little louder each time, finally risking a hoarse yell when the sun dipped below the horizon.</p><p>	No silver parachute came.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Scarlett realizes Rhett is gone and quickly gets moving. A cannon sounds. As she walks, she starts to untangle her emotions, particularly the sadness she feels now that he's gone. She trips and hurts her ankle, then kills Carey Ashburn, but doesn't get the chance to grab any supplies he might have. In serious pain, she drags herself to the river and hides out in a copse near it. She begs Ashley to gift her something for the pain, but no parachute comes.</p><p>Thank you all so much for reading! I love reading all your sweet comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Promise Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scarlett almost nodded off before the anthem began. The seal of Panem glowed bright in the sky, and she snapped to attention.</p><p>	Carey Ashburn.</p><p>	The girl from District 2.</p><p>	Scarlett closed her eyes, sighing with relief. Tonight would be awful, but at least she wouldn’t have to bear bad news.</p><p>	She wondered why she felt so close to Rhett, especially after he’d left her to die, but puzzling that out would take energy she didn’t have. Scarlett was too fatigued to even try to understand her feelings about him--even this morning, she hadn’t been very successful, and over the course of the day, her emotions had become even more muddled.</p><p>	Scarlett’s thoughts turned to Ashley. Immediately, it felt as if a rock-hard fist had closed around her heart. There was no reason for him not to help her. She was in the final four--no one in the Capitol could doubt her strength. Scarlett had proved that today. Ashley wasn’t going to help her through the Games. She should’ve known when Melanie Hamilton, District 11’s resident fool, had been a better mentor.</p><p>	Melanie--why hadn’t she convinced her fiancé to lend a hand? If Scarlett knew anything at all about Melly, it was that she wouldn’t want to watch a person suffer. Why hadn’t she stepped in?</p><p>	Scarlett stared up at the stars dotting the now-clear skies and wrapped her blanket more securely around her. If she were being honest with herself, it wasn’t Melanie’s job to help her--that honor fell to Ashley, she thought bitterly.</p><p>	Footsteps. Scarlett sat bolt upright, drawing on energy she hadn’t known she possessed. Drawing her knife, she waited, balling up the blanket and stuffing it under her right knee. If she hadn’t been so tired, she would have been smart about it--of course a silver blanket wasn’t going to help her hide. Now, she was entirely vulnerable. She wouldn’t be surprised if someone just tossed a spear into the copse. They'd probably hit her.</p><p>	“Scarlett?” Her heart stopped.</p><p>	She didn’t answer, fighting to keep a neutral expression on her face.</p><p>	“Scarlett, I know you’re there.” She didn’t have time to puzzle out his strange tone before Rhett pushed away the branches and peered at her face through the gap.</p><p>	He looked the same, except the strange look on his face, though the moon didn’t provide much light. Scarlett couldn’t make it out.</p><p>	“What are you doing here?” she said calmly. Too calmly--she sounded dead.</p><p>	“Aren’t we allies?”</p><p>	Scarlett blushed angrily. Any relief dried up instantly. “You abandoned me in the middle of the night.” She wanted to stand up so she could yell at him properly, but the moment she tried, she was back on the ground, this time with Rhett’s arms around her.</p><p>	“What happened?” He scooped her up, and Scarlett barely managed to hold onto her belongings. She tried to marshal her thoughts in order.</p><p>	“I’m fine. Put me down.”</p><p>	“You can’t even stand up.” He jogged towards the forest, ignoring her protests. “Clearly, my little idiot, you are not fine.” She heard the smile in his voice and punched him in the chest, though thanks to her awkward position it was a weak jab. He didn’t react.</p><p>	“I killed a man, Rhett, you can’t pet me and treat me like a child unless you want me to make it two.”</p><p>	“Ah, yes. Allow me to congratulate you on your stunning victory over Mr. Ashburn.”</p><p>	She tried to slap his face, but he jerked his head out of the way. “Did he catch you in the leg? Is that why--”</p><p>	“It’s not nearly that glamorous. Now shut it.”</p><p>	“I’ve missed your thrilling conversation. I couldn’t wait to hear you tell me to stay mum a million different ways, and so I hurried back to your--” he winced as she punched him again, this time with more force “--loving embrace.”</p><p>	“Put me down, or I’ll--”</p><p>	“Relax, darling.” He plopped her down on the stack of boulders that had once been the Careers’ hideout. Had the journey been that short? It had taken her hours. “Now tell me. Did you really think I would abandon you without a care in the world? Abandon you just to do that, after you hadn’t, er, helped me one bit?”</p><p>	“Yes,” she said truthfully. He sat down beside her.</p><p>	“I did plan to rejoin you, hopefully before you woke up. I wanted to get at least one tribute out of our way. It’d be a consolation prize to you when there were no silver parachutes from your beloved. By the way, since I made sure to yell at every tree I passed that I hadn’t broken up our little gang, my mentor was unable to supply me with anything, so I had to stop by the river before going back to our little campsite.”</p><p>	Rhett looked at her, expecting a reaction, but Scarlett could only manage a silent nod. Undeterred, he went on to do what she suspected was his favorite thing--talking her ear off. She hardly registered what he was saying, too tired to really care.</p><p>	“Well, by the time I got there you were gone, and about fifteen minutes after that, I heard a cannon fire.” He reached down to tie his shoe. “I was quite worried about you, my dear. I didn’t know you were still alive until tonight. I’ve been pacing this side of the river all day, waiting for you to happen along it.”</p><p>	She frowned. “You didn’t hear me earlier? I wasn’t exactly quiet around midday.”</p><p>	He frowned. “No...I went up to the waterfall rather quickly, since that had been our general goal. Is that when you were hurt? How?”</p><p>	Scarlett’s shoulders bunched. Rhett would laugh at her until he died, really this time. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”</p><p>	“When have I ever broken a promise to you?”</p><p>	“You’ve never promised me anything.”</p><p>	“I promise now.”</p><p>	Scarlett didn’t trust the smirk growing at the corner of his mouth. Ah, well, better to get it over with. She couldn’t exactly pretend it away. “I tripped over a dead tree. I think my ankle is sprained.”</p><p>	Perhaps telling him had been the right decision. Watching him try so hard not to smile was a sport in itself.</p><p>	“You’re laughing at me,” she complained, though the fog of weariness dampened any real annoyance.</p><p>	“Did you stick a knife through Ashburn and trip on your escape?” Rhett had officially lost this particular battle, if his wide grin was anything to go by.</p><p>	Scarlett smiled, a tiny one just for herself. “No, I ran into him a few minutes after I, uh, got hurt.”</p><p>	“Tripped.”</p><p>	“Call it what you will. I’m tired.” Conversations and arguments with Rhett were certainly invigorating, but it had officially been a day since she’d last slept. If Scarlett wanted to function at all for the remainder of the Games, she needed a nap.</p><p>	“I’m waking you up in three hours. You aren’t the only one who’s been awake all day.”</p><p>	“That’s your fault.”</p><p>	“Your turn to shut up.”</p><p>	Scarlett laughed, surprised at herself, before dropping into the little structure with a grunt. Gingerly, trying not to move her left leg more than necessary, she sank to the ground. She held out a hand, and Rhett passed her the blanket.</p><p>	“Are you all right?”</p><p>	“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let me sleep.”</p><p>	He didn’t respond, still looking out into the night, but she felt his hand smoothing the hairs on her forehead.</p><p>	“Wake up. I’m fucking exhausted.” Rhett shook her gently.</p><p>	“Mmph.”</p><p>	“Yes, yes, move over.” He ripped the blanket away, exposing her to the cold air. With enormous effort, Scarlett opened her eyes. It wasn’t light yet, but the stars weren’t quite as bright as they had been.</p><p>	She envied Rhett, already sleeping soundly and snoring softly.</p><p>	Scarlett rubbed her eyes, no more awake than she had been a few hours ago. But she hadn’t dealt with any bad dreams, had she? Thank God for small mercies. Now, she could focus on how stiff her foot felt.</p><p>	Biting the edge of her coat, Scarlett unlaced her boot, knife right next to her just in case. Taking it off wasn’t as bad as it had been nearly a day ago, but she still ended up brushing away tears. Unwrapping her disgusting sock--why hadn’t she rinsed it in the river?--from her foot, she wrinkled her nose at the sight of her swollen, bruised foot. She flexed her toes and gasped in pain, loud enough that Rhett stirred. She waited with bated breath, but he didn’t wake. She turned her attention back to her ankle.</p><p>	So, clearly nothing had gotten better. She drizzled water over her foot, but that didn’t seem to help. Maybe if she propped it up and let it get some air…?</p><p>	Her mother had always said to let it rest, to ice it, wrap it tightly, and to elevate it. Skinned elbow? That was her advice as she turned back to work. Broken knee? Pa’s treatment had begun and ended with Ellen’s formula.</p><p>	Already dreading it, Scarlett put her makeshift cast back on, this time unable to keep the tears from spilling over.</p><p>	She yawned. How long had it been? Could she wake up Rhett and go back to sleep? No, he was too peaceful like this, and his soft snores were almost endearing, unlike Wade’s, which were just plain annoying.</p><p>	Wade...Scarlett desperately wanted one of his hugs. He’d like Rhett, she thought suddenly. She had a strong suspicion that the cad would be good with children.</p><p>	Left awake with her thoughts and without crushing pain or the fog of utter exhaustion, Scarlett had to think about Ashley Wilkes.</p><p>	She wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming rage. Refusing to help Rhett was one thing, but ignoring her request for pain relievers? The man was despicable! A sorry excuse for a man. He couldn’t even do his job correctly.</p><p>	And Melanie! Scarlett’s rage bled to her. Where had she been? Why hadn’t she stopped the idiot man from blundering his way through the most important few weeks of Scarlett’s life? Melly had won the Games, had killed a man. Ashley, if she remembered right, had hid in a cave until everyone else died off.</p><p>	How had he survived? Thanks to his goddamn sponsorship gifts. Scarlett had never wanted to slap a man more. She settled for ripping up blades of grass and pretending they were strands of Ashley’s hair.</p><p>	Even thoughts of him returning from the Games a hero, with his hair gleaming in the May sunlight and his quiet gray eyes seeking her out in the huge crowd greeting, did nothing to quell her rage. Ashley had bargained on her death and lost, big time. How else to explain, well, everything? The only reason she had survived this long was thanks to her own determination and the man beside her.</p><p>	Why had Rhett come back? The question had niggled at her ever since he’d returned, but given that a few hours ago the only thing keeping her going had been arguing with him, asking a serious question hadn’t crossed her mind.</p><p>	Scarlett wasn’t an idiot--she knew it would have been smarter for him to stay away. There were only four tributes left. She had been angry and disappointed, but now, if he woke up and said goodbye, she would understand.</p><p>	Four tributes left. Only three more people would die, and she might not be one of them. She let the thought in. She had a real chance. Up till now, Scarlett had been relying on her specific brand of bravado, telling herself that she’d make it to tomorrow, that too many people needed her to live. But she might never have to work in the apothecary again, Carreen and Suellen would never have to take out tesserae, and Wade would be perfectly secure for the next ten years. And Pa...she could make Pa’s life a comfortable one.</p><p>	Unfortunately, that meant the death of the man beside her. She took a little corner of the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders to ward off the sudden chill that had overtaken her.</p><p>	Scarlett didn’t want him to die.</p><p>	Admitting it felt like admitting defeat. The whole point of the Hunger Games was that only one tribute survived. She should kill him now, get it over with, deal with her grief when she could breathe freely again. She should, but she wouldn’t.</p><p>	Without either of them really wanting it, Rhett had wormed his way into her heart. Scarlett wasn’t sure where he fit in--she no longer hesitated to call him a friend, but that seemed too small a word--but he was there, and she didn’t like it.</p><p>	She didn’t like it at all. Not one bit.</p><p>	Scarlett swept a lock of hair away from Rhett’s face. Had he somehow shaved? That was the only explanation she could think of for his close-clipped mustache, with only light stubble dusting his jaw.</p><p>	A soft smile grew on her cheeks. Not since her mother had died had she actually engaged in a conversation more or less on her level--Ashley always chattered about books and Melanie and the years before any of their friends had died or disappeared whenever they spoke, Pa was entirely useless, and she didn’t have time to chit-chat with her sisters about their lives when Carreen would come out with nonsense about God and Suellen would complain incessantly, with a few sloppy jabs her way. Rhett, as always, managed to change the game. Was that a good thing?</p><p>	Had it been a long enough time that she could wake him and not feel guilty? As the sun rose, the dawn of a new day, Scarlett didn’t feel quite as tired. She’d let him sleep in, then, when he was good and rested, ask him just what he wanted from her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, I think I finally have a plan for how long this story will be. The rest of the actual story will probably be two, three more chapters, and there'll be an epilogue (or two?) as well.<br/>Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. One to Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No graphic violence in this chapter, so there won't be a recap, but the very end of the chapter can be skimmed if needed.<br/>This was originally two chapters, but they were both very short, so I combined them. Don't think they quite blend, but here they are, lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rhett stretched, groaning loudly before opening his eyes. “Morning,” he said, voice husky with sleep.</p>
<p>	“Good morning,” she said. Her stomach growled. “You have food, don’t you? I’ve got some crackers, but they probably went stale on day two. That’s how they taste anyway. I’ve got plenty of water, though. Maybe we can make some kind of mash? No, we can’t heat our water, and it’s not exactly warm and sunny out.” She held out the tin, and he took one.</p>
<p>	“I like the cold, clear days,” Rhett said, biting into the cracker and making a face. “Especially when it’s about to rain. Good for fishing.” He frowned. "Wonder where yesterday's clouds went."</p>
<p>	She wrinkled her nose. “I hate when it’s cold. The house gets so drafty.”</p>
<p>	“Oh, poor you. I suppose your four-poster is quite uncomfortable.” He laughed, but Scarlett sobered quickly.</p>
<p>	“What’s wrong, Scarlett?” One look at his expression and she could tell he wanted to understand. That, for the moment, he was serious.</p>
<p>	Rhett wouldn’t make fun of her for this. She knew that--he’d been thrown out of his home, he wouldn’t lash out at her. Her only real concern was the people back in District 11; would admitting weakness lead to pity or scorn for her family? Scarlett got ready to clam up, except one look at Rhett's soft black eyes and the story spilled out.

“You know my mother’s dead, Rhett.” He nodded, face unreadable.</p>
<p>	“Well, when she died--typhoid--we found out that...that there wasn't nearly as much money as we'd thought. There wasn't any money, actually. She'd hidden it from Pa, from everybody. But we had almost nothing left. She didn't even get a proper burial service.</p>
<p>	“Pa didn't really understand what had happened. I didn't speak to him for days--I was too busy caring for a baby and keeping my sisters alive. They were almost as sick as she was, but they got better. They wanted to get better, and I don't know why Mother didn't. I don't think Pa knew either. By the time our pathetic attempt at a funeral rolled around, he didn't even know she was gone. He still doesn't realize." She paused, looking at her hands. "He doesn't realize a lot of things.</p>
<p>	“I was just fifteen, Rhett. I didn’t know how money worked, how taxes worked. I had to pay that year's taxes and make enough money to support the whole family. Pa was no help at all, and Sue and Carreen were sick, and even after that, they weren't exactly useful.”</p>
<p>	She turned, glaring straight into his eyes with practiced pride. “So you see, Rhett, I have no four-poster. The last night I spent at home I spent on the couch after working for twelve hours. I know plants--not that it’s been useful here, there’s nothing but stone--thanks to hours in the apothecary, doing anything to sell medicine and keep my family looking presentable. I’ve...I’ve got to win, otherwise my family’s destitute and living off charity.” She set her jaw, waiting for a reaction--what kind, she didn’t know.</p>
<p>	“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, patting her hand.</p>
<p>	Through it all, Scarlett had been cool, calm, detached. But two words from a stupid, stupid cad who had to die in a few days made tears prick at her eyes.</p>
<p>	Without a word, Rhett hugged her. That moment in the elevator paled in comparison to this. Now, instead of an odd place to land, his arms were a safe haven. She let the tears fall, but refused to go to pieces and pulled back after a few seconds, wiping her eyes and instantly missing Rhett's warmth.</p>
<p>	“Well,” she said, ignoring the crack in her voice entirely, “Now you know. What shall we do? I can’t really move, and we’ve made it to the river.”</p>
<p>	“We can have fun,” he said carefully, looking at her like a cat watches a mouse. “I always thought the Games would be a blast, and I’m determined to make them one.”</p>
<p>	“How are we going to have fun, Rhett? We can’t exactly ask for drinks and confetti.”</p>
<p>	“So you believe me at last about your mentor, or are you merely commenting on the absurd impracticality of my very practical suggestion?”</p>
<p>	“Oh, I believe you. I think I believed you when you said it, I just didn’t want to.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “And don’t you dare gloat. I like to see the best in people, that’s all.”</p>
<p>	“What’s the best in me? My dashing good looks? My sweet disposition?”</p>
<p>	“Stop it, Rhett. You’re the exception to the rule.”</p>
<p>	He grinned, then stood up. “What’s there to do around here? I’d rather not go hunting for an old man and an ax-wielding maniac, if you don’t mind.” At the look on her face, he added, “The boy from Seven is still out there. I’ve been counting.”</p>
<p>	“Can’t we stay here? It’s not like I can go very many places, and two people died yesterday so we might have a peaceful day. How did you kill that girl, stick her with a spear like Raoul?”</p>
<p>	“So flippant! But yes, that’s exactly what I did. You catch on quick.”</p>
<p>	Raoul...Scarlett had almost forgotten about him. To keep ahead of the guilt, she asked, “How long has it been since the Games began?”</p>
<p>	“I don’t know. Five, six days, maybe?”</p>
<p>	“That doesn’t sound right.”</p>
<p>	“Well, excuse me. I don’t have much of a head for figures.”</p>
<p>	“Really? I thought you’d be good at math.” Scarlett smirked. “I am.”</p>
<p>	“Oh, I know, don’t rub it in. I’m more of a reader.”</p>
<p>	Her playful grin disappeared.</p>
<p>	“Do you hate to read?”</p>
<p>	“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. And everyone who really likes to read is an idiot at heart. They aren’t practical, because they’re too wrapped up in their little fantasy worlds.”</p>
<p>	Rhett sat back down. “I think most people live in their own little fantasy worlds, as you call it. But you’re right, readers are nearly always dreamers. I like to think of myself as a realist.”</p>
<p>	“Me too.”</p>
<p>	He chuckled. “You, my dear, are the most ruthlessly practical woman I’ve ever known.”</p>
<p>	“Is that a compliment?” Had Rhett ever paid her a real compliment, one that hadn’t immediately been followed by an insult?</p>
<p>	“It’s a fact.”</p>
<p>	She sighed. Another hope dashed. “You aren’t, you know.”</p>
<p>	“Hm?”</p>
<p>	“You’re not ruthlessly practical.”</p>
<p>	Rhett smiled, but his eyes were searching hers, not accompanied by their usual gleam. “Why not?”</p>
<p>	Otherwise you wouldn’t have come back, she wanted to say. But the irrational part of her brain slammed the brakes. Rhett was unpredictable. What if this made him leave? Scarlett didn't think to hard about the logistics of that argument.</p>
<p>	“I don’t know, I just don’t think so.”</p>
<p>	“Thank you for that shrewd insight, my dear.”</p>
<p>	“Not a problem.”</p>
<p>	Scarlett didn’t have patience for people, ever. Oh, social events were always a blast, and talking to Pa before her mother died had been all right. But she never wanted to talk for a whole day. Too much work maintaining her façade, or too much work to keep off topics she didn’t have the energy to discuss, or awkwardness when she said something that was slightly wrong.</p>
<p>	With Rhett, she didn’t feel any of that. He rescued her from any awkward moments in his trademark way--insulting her, or both of them, or someone else--but Scarlett found she didn’t mind his stupid jokes as much anymore. He told her about District 4, never getting too deep but recounting in detail the adventures he had been on. She never could tell when he was lying, which made his anecdotes all the more entertaining.</p>
<p>	For her part, she didn’t have any stories about swimming with dolphins or getting stuck on sandbars, but she did tell Rhett about her business, shamelessly advertising it for the audience back home. He asked her questions, and listened with interest--a first for her. Scarlett knew she could talk for hours with him and not get bored.</p>
<p>	And she did. Since neither of them had anything better to do, they talked about nothing at all and drank water to fill their stomachs--Rhett occasionally leaving for refills--both avoided thinking about their dwindling stash of food.</p>
<p>	When dusk fell with no cannons, Rhett offered to let her sleep, looking around warily. Though they both reassured the other that the Capitol had been given a very interesting day yesterday, Scarlett didn’t think the night would be peaceful. She had a sinking feeling that the past few days were going to come to a head, and it wouldn’t be pretty. Finally, she gave up on sleep. Rhett would distract her, if only by being annoying. Scarlett's worries about tomorrow faded.</p>
<p>	They was hard to think about when Rhett was sitting next to her under the blanket--it was almost as cold as the first night--pointing out constellations in the clear sky. He completely ignored her when she casually mentioned that the stars didn't make patterns.</p>
<p>	“Why did you come back?” she asked drowsily.</p>
<p>	His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Why not?”</p>
<p>	“You’d be better off without me.”</p>
<p>	“Maybe. Maybe not.” Scarlett waited for more, but all he said was “And that’s the Big Dipper. I think it looks like a ladle.”</p>
<p>"It does not!"</p>
<p>"It definitely does. You just don't have an imagination."</p>
<p>	She fell asleep that way, nestled against Rhett’s solid warmth, his low drawl still pointing out bears and people outlined in the sky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wake up. Now.” Strong arms hauled her to her feet and pushed her. Scarlett opened her eyes, bleary from sleep, to an orange inferno. Flames licked the sky, drawing ever closer. Smoke already curled overhead, making breathing difficult. Scarlett slowly became aware of the cracks in her lips, of the sweat running down her back.</p>
<p>	“I thought you said the wood couldn’t--”</p>
<p>	“The Gamemakers don’t need to follow the rules,” Rhett said, dumping water on the front of her shirt and pulling it over her nose, leaving her hips exposed, then doing the same to himself. “For the smoke," he explained briefly. "You need to run right now, Scarlett, we don’t have time to worry about your ankle.” He shouldered both packs and put his arm around her in an effort to steady her. She shook like a leaf, but her foot held her weight.</p>
<p>	She risked a glance at the sky, but the stars were obscured by smoke.</p>
<p>	“Get moving!” Finally, Scarlett might see Rhett lose control. His eyes were wild above his wet shirt, his hair messier than she’d ever seen it. He trembled all over, pulling her along as best he could.</p>
<p>	“Where are we going?” she panted, leaning on his right side for support.</p>
<p>	“The meadow. The fire’s got to be chemical. Maybe it doesn't burn on grass. It definitely doesn't stop for stone. Otherwise I’d take the chance and just jump in the river.” Rhett muttered a few choice words regarding the Gamemakers, but Scarlett didn’t waste her breath. She limped along as fast as she could go, the two of them traveling along the river.</p>
<p>	She had no idea how long they ran--or tried to, in her case. Really, they trotted along as fast as they could, constantly aware of the fire at their backs and the smoke hanging heavy in the air.</p>
<p>Every second lasted an hour and each minute felt like the blink of an eye. Time did not stand still for anyone, just manipulated itself. Rhett stayed by her side, though every time she stumbled and he had to right her, Scarlett wondered why.</p>
<p>	Their breathing became more ragged, the fire hotter, though it wasn’t right on their heels--just creeping steadily closer.</p>
<p>	“They’re pushing us all together. All us tributes,” Rhett said, more to himself than to her. Scarlett didn’t say anything--she was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other without coughing every step. Thankfully, after a while the adrenaline kicked in she could hobble along, too busy with her heart pounding in her ears to bother with the jagged knives stabbing her leg.</p>
<p>Still, the smoke reached them before the fire got close, and both of them began coughing. For Rhett, it was an infrequent shake of the shoulders, but for her, it became common for her to shudder to a halt whenever she took too deep a breath.</p>
<p>	On and on they ran, not seeing one animal or tribute. Eventually, Scarlett dissolved into hacking coughs and collapsed, unable to hold herself up. Rhett picked her up and planted her on her feet, but she just crumpled again. Her shirt slipped off her nose, but she didn’t have the strength to right it. At least she'd stopped coughing.</p>
<p>	“Scarlett…” Rhett said softly. He held her up this time, right against his chest. “Scarlett, I’m leaving.”</p>
<p>	Leaving.</p>
<p>	Rhett had made his decision.</p>
<p>	He didn’t want to be saddled with a girl who could barely walk.</p>
<p>	He’d win without her.</p>
<p>	That didn’t make it any easier to deal with the new kind of pain in her chest that made her want to collapse for the third time.</p>
<p>	“Okay,” she whispered hoarsely. His face tightened, and, for the first time, opened up completely, no blank mask in sight.</p>
<p>	“You wanted to know why I came back, didn’t you?” She nodded, and he pulled his shirt off his jaw, leaving beads of water behind. She nestled her head in his chest, unable to look at him anymore. “I tried to leave, Scarlett. I knew our alliance wasn’t smart anymore. I knew you’d be no more than a liability to me. I wouldn’t receive anything from the outside, and I didn’t want to have to kill you.</p>
<p>	“But I came back, because after I heard that cannon at noon, I went crazy thinking it was you.”</p>
<p>	What?</p>
<p>“The thought that, because of me, because I’d left, you had been killed, was unbearable. That night was the worst of my life until I saw Carey Ashburn’s picture in the sky. I didn’t sleep, I ran around the arena looking for you.</p>
<p>	“I don’t know when it happened. I...I knew you were the one to watch before all this started, and I thought to ally with you, if only to figure out why you seemed so much like me, but pretended not to be. In District 4, there aren’t many people like you, or like me for that matter. I was intrigued.</p>
<p>“I’ve spent every day with you--well, save for one--since, and I’ve figured it out. We are alike, Scarlett, in all the ways that matter. The way we think, what we value.”</p>
<p>	What he said didn't sound real. Some of it registered and the rest flew over her head. He didn’t want to kill her. He thought they were alike.</p>
<p>	“I don’t know what I feel for you, Scarlett. We haven’t known each other long enough to love one another, and we never will. But I’d like to think that, if we had time, we would love each other as none have before. I do know that I want to know you, know your favorite food and what time you go to sleep every night and how to make your nightmares go away.”</p>
<p>	“What are you saying?” she said helplessly. We never will. We never will. We never will. The ugly phrase repeated itself over and over again. </p>
<p>He tapped her chin, forcing her to look at him.</p>
<p>	“I mean that I want you, Scarlett. I want to be your closest confidante and I want to hold you in my arms and I want you to want the same things. Can we pretend? Just once, that we have all the time in the world, that we're young and don't care about anything.”</p>
<p>	He leaned closer to her, his breath tickling her nose for a brief moment before his lips landed on hers.</p>
<p>	Rhett’s lips were chapped, his breath tasted like stale food, and his hands were rough against her waist. He kissed her hard, not like any boy she'd known. But she didn’t want soft lips and gentle hands and hesitant kisses.</p>
<p>	She wanted Rhett. She wanted his passion, she wanted him to hold her in his arms and never let go. Warmth she had never known filled her, pooling in her stomach.</p>
<p>	Scarlett went limp in his embrace, opening her mouth under him and wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back with all the intensity she possessed. She needed more, she needed Rhett, he couldn’t stop. She pressed herself as close as she could get, the heat in her stomach growing hotter and spreading to the tips of her fingers. She couldn’t think about anything else. Nothing mattered but Rhett.</p>
<p>	He broke the kiss, moving to her jaw, her neck. She moaned his name, heart pounding, their surroundings forgotten. He sucked in a breath, whispering her name against her neck, then went back to her mouth, pulling her closer. Rhett moved his hand, rubbing his thumb against her hip bone. He groaned into her mouth.</p>
<p>	Scarlett would faint soon if she didn’t break the kiss, but somehow, she knew nothing would ever compare to this moment, that she shouldn't stop and he shouldn't either. </p>
<p>	Too soon, he pulled away, still holding her up. She sagged in his arms, clutching him tighter.</p>
<p>	“Don’t leave me, Rhett.” Scarlett’s face didn’t heat up at the admission. She needed him, and he needed her. It was as simple as that.</p>
<p>	Rhett unwrapped her arms from around his neck and smiled gently, eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry, my love. I have to.”</p>
<p>	With that, he shoved her, hard. She stumbled back, all her weight on her left leg. She fell, hearing a strangled cry that must be her own. He flinched.</p>
<p>	“Don’t worry, Scarlett. You’ll make it back to your family. They won’t have to worry about a thing.” He turned away.</p>
<p>	“Rhett!” she screamed desperately, unable to stand. He jogged away, not looking back.</p>
<p>	Scarlett knew that, if circumstances were even slightly less dire, she would have laid down and cried for hours.</p>
<p>	He was going to die, and he didn't even care. She had the horrible feeling that she wouldn’t see him again.</p>
<p>	She needed to find her inner reserves of strength, to steel herself and continue on the O’Hara way. Think of Pa, think of Wade, think of Ashley--</p>
<p>	But the thought of Ashley stirred nothing in her but nostalgia and resentment. None of the soft, sweet love she’d associated with him for two years.</p>
<p>	She’d think about that later. Now, she had to stand up.</p>
<p>	She thought of Rhett, of him marching to his death, whether it be at the hands of another tribute or the fire. Speaking of, if she wanted her or Rhett to live, she had to get moving. Now.</p>
<p>	Scarlett stood slowly, but the moment she put weight on her left leg, she buckled. Undeterred, she tried again and stayed upright, but not without a hoarse shout of pain. The journey to the river was nothing compared to this.</p>
<p>	Great. She had to elude a fire with a leg she couldn’t use. Then she had to stop Rhett Butler from doing something he was dead-set on doing.</p>
<p>	Would out-limping the fast-approaching wall of flames be easier?</p>
<p>	Scarlett limped slowly in the direction Rhett had gone, hacking for minutes at a time.</p>
<p>	“Scarlett?” A broken hiss. Not Rhett.</p>
<p>	“Who’s there?” she croaked, drawing her knife with shaking fingers.</p>
<p>	Frank Kennedy emerged from the smoke, holding his side, face blackened. No blood that she could see, but he didn’t look to be in tip-top condition.</p>
<p>	Without hesitation, Scarlett recalled every time she’d thrown something at a wall (or at a person), all her hours training last week. She thought of Rhett, searching for a deadly man who knew how to use his weapon. She thought of every time she’d bitten her tongue to keep from bruising Frank’s feelings. A different kind of heat filled her, this time the familiar scorch of anger.</p>
<p>	What Frank saw in her eyes she didn’t know, but he turned to run. Scarlett didn’t wait another second burying her knife in the back of Frank Kennedy’s head.</p>
<p>	The cannon sounded immediately, her hand still extended from the throw.</p>
<p>Scarlett didn't stick around to raid Frank's body or see him off for Suellen's sake. She had a job to do.</p>
<p>	With no weapon, she hurried on, taking frequent stops to retch up her dinner.</p>
<p>Only one tribute left to go. Then she and Rhett could work something out.</p>
<p>The meadow couldn’t be far away. Everything was going to be fine. Scarlett would make it to tomorrow, with Rhett by her side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! I'd love your feedback on this chapter--I don't typically write romantic scenes, and have no idea whether it works or not.<br/>Happy early Valentine's day! Check up on your loved ones if you can--the past year has been hard on us all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. "Honor"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, here it is. What the last thirteen chapters have been building towards...<br/>TW for mentioning blood/death, but it's not graphic. There will not be a recap at the end of this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scarlett tried her best to hold onto the memory of Rhett’s lips against hers, of his hands on her body, but the battle wasn’t an easy one. Sure, it distracted her from the long list of reasons she could barely move, and it kept thoughts of Frank and home at bay, but it meant her imagination ran wild, coming up with more horrible what-if scenarios every second. She just kept going, propelling herself forward through sheer force of will.</p><p>	After a while, she realized that the fire wasn’t her greatest concern anymore--the smoke would be the one to kill her if she didn’t find Rhett soon. Scarlett pulled her shirt over her mouth and nose again, but kept having to yank it back down to cough or retch--now, not even water came up.</p><p>	“Rhett!” she called, voice cracking, unrecognizable from the clear lilt of the Scarlett O’Hara she knew. “Rhett!”</p><p>	Scarlett tripped over nothing, falling to her knees. Surprisingly, her ankle was the least of her worries. Her lungs, her chest, her throat...everything hurt, but she would not stop. She couldn’t. Picking herself up, she stumbled on, clutching at blackened trunks that crumbled in her hands. Clearly, the fire had passed through this area. That didn’t matter. All she cared about was finding Rhett, finding the man who was walking knowingly to his death. The man she wanted to know, to understand. Not Ashley--it had never really been Ashley. That had been a passing fancy, a young girl’s dream.</p><p>	“Rhett!”</p><p>	A shiny gleam, not far away. The Cornucopia? Had she made it to the meadow?</p><p>	“Rhett!”</p><p>	A cannon fired.</p><p>	“Rhett,” she whispered, on her hands and knees now, coughing too hard to move. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. Were they from the smoke, the pain?</p><p>	Scarlett didn’t let herself assume anything. The cannon had been the District 7 boy. That had to be the truth. She wouldn’t accept anything else. </p><p>But Rhett still wasn’t safe. His misplaced and twisted sense of honor still endangered him, and it was up to her to knock some sense into him. Muscles screaming in protest, she stood up.</p><p>	“Rhett!” she croaked. The harsh gold Cornucopia in front of her betrayed nothing. Where was he? She inched closer.</p><p>	“Rhett--” she started. Oh, thank God. Through the haze of smoke, she glimpsed a dark figure leaning against the Cornucopia. Frantically, heart beating wildly, she ran towards him, vision growing spotty and limbs aching more with every step.</p><p>	“Rhett! It’s me, it’s Scarlett--”</p><p>	He slumped to the ground. His chest rose, then fell.</p><p>	The cannon fired. 

“Rhett?” Scarlett stayed rooted to her spot, not comprehending the sight twenty meters away.</p><p>	Slowly, she noticed the trumpets playing the fanfare. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck.</p><p>	“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Claudius Templesmith, his voice transported to the arena along with the cheering audiences of the Capitol. “The winner of this year’s Hunger Games, Scarlett O’Hara!”</p><p>	Her ears were deaf to the cheers, eyes blind to the cold light spilling across the sky from the east. Even the receding flames didn't mean much to her.</p><p>	Rhett. Where had he gone? Why had they announced her the winner? Slowly, all pain forgotten, Scarlett walked towards the broken form at the base of the Cornucopia. She didn’t notice the body nearby, that of a red-haired boy with a spear in his stomach.</p><p>	“Rhett?” she whispered, kneeling and touching the man’s rough cheek. She turned him towards her, cradling his head in her lap.</p><p>	Cold black eyes stared back at her. No twinkle in his eyes, no smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. His warm, tanned skin had lost its easy glow and grown stiff.</p><p>	No.</p><p>	Please, no.</p><p>	Anything but this.</p><p>	Scarlett clung to Rhett’s lifeless body and cried. She ran her hands along his palms, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tried to find something of the man she knew. She didn’t take note of the axe next to him, or the blood seeping from his side that soaked her shirt and pants. Just rocked him back and forth.</p><p>	Holding him, a cold man once warm and bright, a deep, empty loneliness consumed her. The loss ate at her core, and she clutched Rhett tighter, hoping to fill the hole. It didn’t work. He couldn’t help her now.

Part of her wanted to die here and now, to give up and hold Rhett forever. But he’d left her for a reason, for a stupid, misguided attempt at chivalry. She had to honor that.</p><p>	The whir of a hovercraft behind her stirred her from her reverie.</p><p>	Time to say goodbye.</p><p>Scarlett closed Rhett’s eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I would have loved you,” she whispered, her tears dripping onto his cheeks. “As you would have loved me.”</p><p>	She squeezed his hand, begging him to understand, before she limped towards the hovercraft, not looking back.</p><p>~ </p><p>Scarlett woke in a bright white room. The light hurt her eyes for a moment.</p><p>	Rhett.</p><p>Scarlett went back to sleep.</p><p> ~</p><p>“She’s not getting any better--” Ashley’s frantic voice. A lifetime ago, Scarlett would have opened her eyes and smiled prettily, despite her utter exhaustion. Now she just ignored him. She wanted Melly. Melly would understand.</p><p> ~</p><p>Scarlett no longer dreamed of fire and passion and fear.</p><p>	She dreamt of a place of possibility, where a young, reckless man with a cocky grin and not a care in the world waited for her.</p><p>	“Come with me, love,” Rhett always urged, holding out a hand. She tried to take it, but his fingers dissolved into smoke. The rest of his body followed.</p><p>	His smile stayed to the very end, before disappearing into thin air. Scarlett was left with nothing but smoke, the memory of flames long extinguished.</p><p>She woke with tears running down her cheeks.</p><p>~ </p><p>Her body ached. She stretched, finding that she could move about freely, none of the tubes in her arm she'd expected. Scarlett opened her eyes to the same white room and sat up slowly. Her head didn’t ache, and she could breathe the clean air easily. She tried to move her left foot. It didn’t hurt at all.</p><p>	Immediately, her thoughts went to the man who should be beside her, who should be alive. She shut that little monologue down as soon as it began.</p><p>	Scarlett would think of it all tomorrow.</p><p>	But as she dressed, in the same, simple outfit every tribute had worn, he made his presence known in each movement she made, spiting her best efforts. Of course. She combed her fingers through her hair, then checked the mirror.</p><p>	Scarlett recoiled, hiding her face in her arms and trying in vain to keep the tears in check.</p><p>	She looked the same. The same cheekbones and square jaw, the same red lips, the same bright green eyes.</p><p>	Rhett hadn’t left any mark but a different glint in her eyes. What had once been joy had turned to determination months ago, but now there was something sharp about it, only noticeable if you looked close. Like the gleam of broken glass.</p><p>	Scarlett shouldn’t look like a girl of fourteen, about to fall in love with some pretty blond boy that caught her fancy. She should look like a woman of thirty who had lost too much--that was how she felt.</p><p>	A previously unnoticed door slid open, and without pausing to check for reddened eyes or cheeks, Scarlett sailed out the door, ready to meet her team.</p><p>	She could see Melanie! Scarlett’s grief abated the tiniest bit. During the few lucid moments of her convalescence that hadn’t been taken up by Rhett, the idea of Melanie’s kind words and sweet smile had become the only things she looked forward to.</p><p>	But when she turned the corner in the hallway, she only saw Ashley, Belle, and Walt, and none of them looked very pleased. Scarlett stopped dead in her tracks, a cold feeling spreading from her core to the tips of her fingers.</p><p>	“Where’s Melly?” she asked harshly. Ashley flinched.</p><p>	Belle reached her first and put a gentle arm around her. Scarlett managed not to throw it off, though it was a close thing. “Melanie has been sick, ever since her brother passed away. She won’t die--the Capitol’s got advanced enough technology to keep her alive--but it was touch and go for a while. The news that you’d lived put her back on the road to recovery.”</p><p>	Melly had resources no one in District 11 did, Scarlett reminded herself. Melly wasn’t going to die, and that was that.</p><p>	Her worries were not eased one bit.</p><p>	“When can I see her?”</p><p>	“Now, if you’re up to it.” She nodded, and Belle started walking. She hurried to catch up, but shook Walt’s hand beforehand. Scarlett didn’t acknowledge Ashley. An irrational part of her thought that, if he’d just given her the medicine, she could have saved Rhett, or had a few more minutes with him. Something. Anything.</p><p>	But she no longer blamed Melly--if she’d been sick since the first day, she hadn’t had any influence over Ashley.</p><p>	Belle led her to yet another pale door, knocking before opening it and gesturing for Scarlett to enter.</p><p>	“Hello?” Melanie said weakly. Scarlett stopped in her tracks, shocked. Melanie had been swallowed entirely by blankets and machines. Her long dark hair was splayed across her pillow, the only noticeably part of her.</p><p>	“It’s me, Melly. It’s Scarlett.” She smiled tentatively. All her annoyance with Melanie from the past year had evaporated, replaced with a new kind of respect. Anyone who had gone through the Games was a survivor. And the survivors who didn’t break, like Melly hadn’t, were the strongest people of all.</p><p>	“Scarlett, darling.” Melanie smiled. “I’m so happy to see you.”</p><p>	Scarlett knew the last thing that would help her friend was tears, but they slid down her cheeks anyhow.</p><p>	“Don’t get up, I’d best be going. I have to go onstage later today. I, er, just wanted to see how you were.” At the thought of putting on her act for Panem, Scarlett seriously debated curling up next to Melanie and not leaving for at least two weeks.</p><p>	“Thank you for visiting with me. I’ll be well soon, I hope.”</p><p>	“I hope so too.”</p><p>	Scarlett didn’t register her supper, nor the dress Walt put her in. The Capitol always showed a recap of the Games, complete with the victor’s reaction--all in front of a live audience, of course--and she had to watch Rhett die, not just see the aftermath.</p><p>	But she’d see him alive, too. She might see him without her, smiling to himself, making his own jokes and laughing at them.</p><p>	This would be her farewell to him. She’d gotten through the death of her mother by saying goodbye as Ellen took her last breaths, and she’d deal with Rhett the same way. She could shed any remaining tears while she was supposed to be sleeping, then get ready for the interviews the next day with no problems.</p><p>	Her prep team--Scarlett really should learn their names--took their bows on the stage above her, as did Belle, Walt, and Ashley.</p><p>	Scarlett had no plans, no strategy. She would be herself, as best as she could. If nothing else, Rhett’s family needed to know that someone was grieving for him, that they weren’t alone. Or, if she were honest, his mother and siblings should know. His father Scarlett didn’t particularly care about.</p><p>He’d never see little Rosemary again. The realization was like a blow to the stomach. It knocked the wind out of her. She gasped for breath before getting herself under control. He wouldn’t want her to make a fool out of herself when he couldn’t even watch her do it.</p><p>	She swiped the tears from her cheeks and smoothed her gown--jade silk, Walt had chosen well--and stepped onto her platform.</p><p>	Her name was Scarlett O’Hara, and she could face anything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am so sorry. Please don't hate me.<br/>But yeah, I've known this would happen since I outlined this story, and it was tough seeing it through. I cried a lot while writing this chapter.<br/>Thank you so much for reading! Your comments are always the bright spot of my day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Epilogue I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ladies and gentlemen, this year’s victor--District 11’s Scarlett O’Hara!”</p><p>	She didn’t bask in the cheers, the stamping feet, the rush of artificial warmth from an audience who hadn't cared whether she lived or died a week ago. She smiled and waved, dimples showing, then sat on the hideous golden throne in the center of the stage.</p><p>	Caesar Flickerman got the show started, pretty much ignoring her, which Scarlett appreciated. The three-hour recap would be tough on her, and she did not want to fix a smile to her face for a second longer than necessary.</p><p>	Every time Rhett appeared onscreen, Scarlett sat up a little straighter, determined to remember him as he had been. His presence was dynamic. She noticed new things about him--he moved gracefully for such a big man, and he laughed at people behind their backs more often than even she had realized, particularly his escort and mentor, who looked to be about eighty.</p><p>	As much as she looked for those stolen moments of the last days of Rhett’s life and tried to celebrate them, every time he smiled or gestured with his hand Scarlett’s heart squeezed painfully.

His interview still made her laugh.</p><p>	The Games began, and she watched him like a hawk. He had been so sweet to her, so terribly kind. Waking her up after a nightmare, holding her when she shivered in her sleep, combing his fingers through any big knots in her hair.</p><p>	That first night, the night so many had died, turned out to be nothing at all. They’d all frozen to death, trying in vain to start fires with wood that didn't burn. She thanked God for that hideous blanket. But Scarlett had to laugh, if only in her head--Rhett and her had gone in a wide circle trying to find the waterfall. Had they followed the river instead, it would have taken a few days. Oops.</p><p>Her mood quickly changed when a spear nearly hit the tributes onscreen.</p><p>	Watching Raoul die wasn’t as no-nonsense as she’d thought at the time. He’d come much closer to killing them than she’d realized, too. No wonder Rhett had been so shaken up. And yet, seeing herself lunge and stab him didn’t feel real. It was like a play, except with real blood and real consequences.</p><p>The realization that children, that people her age had died, began to sink in. Twenty-three families mourned, even as her own celebrated. A numbness took over her body, and even as she watched the District 2 tributes spear the girl from District 4, she couldn't comprehend the scope of what the Capitol had done. Had done every year.</p><p>But the moment Rhett showed up, the numbness dissipated, leaving only an expectant feeling, especially since they were arguing about Ashley. She reddened, humiliated. What had that weakling ever done to deserve her impassioned defense of him?</p><p>	Scarlett watched Rhett say goodbye to her while she slept, watched him press his lips to her wrist and walk away, squaring his shoulders in a gesture that reminded her so much of herself, her mouth fell open. He hadn’t wanted to leave. He’d told her the truth.</p><p>	She now understood what Carey Ashburn had meant when he’d said Rhett had left “unfinished business.” The half-asleep girl from District 2 didn’t stand a chance and slid silently to the ground, but Carey was nowhere to be found. Rhett looked disappointed, but once the cannon fired, he jogged away from the scene of the crime, in the direction of the river. Of course, Carey chose that moment to reappear, a full water bottle in each hand. He said goodbye, then stuffed everything they'd carried into his pack.

</p>
<p>	She cringed away when the Scarlett onscreen sprained her ankle, then began her short-lived conversation with Carey Ashburn. Had she just assumed she looked fearless? Carey could have easily run at her and she would have died right there. Why, the girl shaking like a leaf looked like she could drop her blade at any moment.</p><p>	Carey seemed just as surprised when he found the knife sticking out of his chest as Scarlett was now. She must be stronger than even she thought. Her memories of that day were hazy at best, clouded by exhaustion and worry and adrenaline and, of course, pure agony.</p><p>	The cannon fired, and the editors cut to Rhett.</p><p>	He had been sitting at the base of the waterfall, letting his bottle refill, when he sprung up and whipped his head this way and that, for once caught totally off-guard.</p><p>	“Scarlett?” he whispered, a question for himself. His hands trembled as he smoothed back his hair, sat down, stood back up, sat down again.</p><p>“Scarlett?” he called out, a wild frenzy beginning to take over his face, fear overtaking logic. His movements were jerky and awkward as he packed his things quickly, then raced into the woods, more hurried than a few minutes before.</p><p>	The editors cut back to Scarlett, and she flinched at the sight of herself as she crawled, left leg lying limp behind her.</p><p>	Rhett reached their campsite, now shouting her name over and over again. Only during those last minutes together had Scarlett seen him so terrified.</p><p>	“Where are you?” he whispered, dropping to his knees. He stayed there a minute, head in his hands, before forcing himself to his feet and walking in the opposite direction, toward the meadow if Scarlett remembered the arena's layout right.</p><p>	When he finally found her, long after the sun had set, Scarlett saw what she hadn’t seen before--the pure joy in his eyes the moment he heard her voice, saw her face. She tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat didn’t let her. If only she’d noticed. What might have happened, if she’d welcomed Rhett? If she’d shown how happy she was to see him?</p><p>	Scarlett figured she’d torture herself with what-ifs till the end of time.</p><p>	Unfortunately for her, not much of her and Rhett’s last full day together was shown. The editors didn’t show much of that day, actually, just an update on Frank, who hadn’t exactly been important up till now, what with him hiding inside the Cornucopia and far away from the Career tributes, as well as a short bit on the boy from District 7, who didn’t do much other than sleep.</p><p>	She sat straight up the moment Rhett woke the girl onscreen. Scarlett’s cheeks pinked as her younger self struggled to walk. Rhett’s patience did nothing to ease her embarrassment.</p><p>	Then he told her he was leaving. Now, Scarlett knew that this would be the last time she truly saw him alive, and kept her eyes glued to him. The urge to punch the Scarlett staring at him like an idiot was a strong one.</p><p>	He kissed her, and she could almost feel the pressure of his lips on hers. Too soon, he shoved her and turned away.</p><p>	Scarlett clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. She would not cry in front of an entire country when she didn't have to.</p><p>	She watched herself retch, sob, and kill Frank Kennedy, feeling nothing at all. Frank had been in her way, and she'd done what she had to do.</p><p>	The boy from District 7 approached Rhett. Scarlett relaxed slightly--obviously, Rhett was going to win this.</p><p>	Then the boy lunged with his axe, and instead of protecting his left side and striking while his opponent was off-balance, Rhett stuck him in the stomach, taking the blow to his ribs. Scarlett made a sound between a gasp and a sob.</p><p>He let himself die. There was no epic battle, where Rhett had valiantly defeated his opponent but been fatally wounded. No, some evil thing called honor had driven him to accept a small skirmish as the end. Scarlett hadn't known it was possible to be angry with the dead.</p><p>	The boy collapsed on the spot, but Rhett staggered the few feet necessary to reach the Cornucopia. He leaned against it, breathing heavily, hand holding his side.</p><p>	“Rhett!” Scarlett winced, hearing her scratchy, desperate voice. The camera hung on Rhett. He raised his head at her cry and smiled in that special way of his, a tear running down his cheek. His chest rose unsteadily, then fell. So did he, spilling onto the grass. He took another breath, his entire body shuddering, before the cannon fired.</p><p>	Scarlett slapped her hands over her mouth, determined to mute the sobs that shook her shoulders despite her dry eyes. Had her tear ducts dried up? The audience had gone quiet, but Scarlett didn't feel any solidarity.</p><p>She hadn’t known it was possible to feel even more alone, but the empty stage felt more like a big empty cavern, a room that should have two people talking but had only one, staring into the empty space.</p><p>	She finally had respect for the girl onscreen, the girl who treated Rhett with respect, if belatedly. Scarlett's dry sobs didn't let up, especially not when the final frame consisted of her own back as she limped away from Rhett Butler.</p><p>	The audience broke into wild applause, stamping and cheering wildly. The president--what was his name? Winter?--gestured for her to stand. Scarlett scrubbed at her eyes and stood, her left leg still a bit shaky.</p><p>	He placed the gold crown on her head, and she did her best to carry herself like a lady, like her mother and Ruth had always taught her. Her last performance of the night. She smoothed her dark silk dress and smiled at the audience, dimples showing, too-late tears glistening in her green eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Scarlett didn’t remember the hours-long interview that took place the next day. Caesar Flickerman had probably asked her all sorts of things about the Games, and her leg, and maybe even Rhett, but none of it had made an impression. None of it mattered.</p><p>	As she rode home on the train, with only Belle and Ashley for company, her thoughts turned to Melanie. She had improved ever since Scarlett had won the Games, or so Belle said, but moving her would be too risky. In a few weeks, Capitol doctors estimated, Melanie could come home.</p><p>	A knock on her door startled her out of her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.</p><p>	Ashley poked his head in. “I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>	“What about?” Scarlett picked up her hairbrush, desperate for something to do.</p><p>	“I never congratulated you on winning the Games, without my help.” Ashley shoved his hands into his pockets. “What I did was despicable, and dishonorable, and you should never forgive me for it. I’ll never forgive myself.”</p><p>	Scarlett dropped her hairbrush on her vanity with a bang. “Why did you do it?” she said, voice no longer light and calm but monotone. This was just about the last thing she wanted to discuss, but the discussion needed to be had and that was that. She’d accept it, keep calm, and move on.</p><p>	“Because I thought...I thought that man was...well, he was no gentleman, that's for sure.” Ashley laughed softly, and Scarlett clenched her fists, resisting the urge to hit him over and over again, then scream till her voice was gone.</p><p>	“He was no gentleman, and I thought he would hurt you. Kill you, and make off with any supplies I gave you. I didn’t think it was worth the risk. His mentor disagreed. I should have trusted his judgement.”</p><p>	“That’s bullshit,” Scarlett hissed, rising from her chair and stalking towards him, a cat tracking its prey. “That is complete and utter nonsense, and we both know it, Ashley Wilkes.”</p><p>	“Scarlett--”</p><p>	“You didn’t want to help me because, what, you were jealous of him? Is that it? We were fighting for our fucking lives, Ashley. I certainly didn’t expect a romance to blossom!” Her voice had risen to a shout. He cowered before her. “Did you want me to die, so you didn’t have to deal with me anymore? So that you and Melly could go live in your utopia and the femme fatale that haunted your depraved fantasies would no longer be around?”</p><p>	“You know that’s not--”</p><p>“Shut up. For the first time, I think I understand you. I don’t know what made you decide to bet on me dying--of thirst, from choking in smoke, or even getting murdered by some kid--but you bet wrong. You hear me? You bet wrong!” She shoved him, and he stumbled back into her doorway.</p><p>	“Scarlett, you’ve always had a temper. Think things over.” Despite his calm words, he retreated further, till the half-open door separated them. “You’re overreacting.”</p><p>	“The guilt is all over your face. You’re a...a...you’re a coward, a dishonorable coward. Everything you called yourself was right, Ashley. I was too blind to see it before, but I see it now.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a look. “Get out before I throw you out.”</p><p>	Ashley shook his head. “I knew you’d grow to hate me one day.”</p><p>	Scarlett frowned. “I don’t hate you, Ashley.” Somehow, she didn’t think she was capable of hatred, especially where he was concerned. “I could never hate you, not really.”</p><p>	He smiled, and her frown became more pronounced. “I still want you out.”</p><p>	Ashley held up his hands in surrender. “I’m going, I’m going.”</p><p>	She shut the door behind him. He’d gotten the message, she hoped. Whatever she had felt for Ashley, that soft dreamy feeling she’d thought was love, had faded, replaced with bitterness that would never quite leave her, but that Scarlett knew would lose importance with time.</p><p>	She took a deep breath and sat back down at her vanity. Scarlett picked up her hairbrush again and ran it through her hair.</p><p>“One.”</p><p>Another stroke, this time catching on a knot.</p><p>“Two.”</p><p> </p><p>When Scarlett stepped off the train with Ashley and Belle, she expected to be accosted by reporters and have to fight her way to her family. She pictured the scene: Carreen holding Wade’s hand, Gerald with a confused smile, Suellen probably glaring at her.</p><p>	And she did have to fight her way through the crowd, but only Carreen and Wade waited for her. Her smile became real, and she wrapped her arms around Carreen, noting the girl’s bony frame. She turned her attention to Wade, but he had taken up residence behind Carreen’s leg.</p><p>	“Wade,” she said softly. “It’s your Mama. I’m home now.” Scarlett embraced him gently, then let go. “Where’s Sue and Pa?”</p><p>	“Sue stayed home to take care of him.” Carreen’s smile drooped at the corners.</p><p>	“He’s not sick, is he?” Dread set in, but was quickly dispelled by her sister’s next words.</p><p>	“No, she’s just very angry with you.”</p><p>	“I should have known.” Scarlett hoisted Wade onto her right hip. “How’s business? How’s Tara?”</p><p>	“We’re barely holding on,” she confessed. “Neither of us have been to school since you left. We used you as an excuse.” Scarlett noted the bags under Carreen’s eyes, more pronounced than they had been a few weeks ago.</p><p>	“Things’ll be better now, I promise. We can pay the taxes. I’ve got enough money to last four generations of O’Hara’s.”</p><p>	“Scarlett?”</p><p>	“Let’s get going. What is it?” Please don’t tell me, she wanted to say. I don’t want to hear.</p><p>	“I’m sorry about--”</p><p>	“What are you sorry about? Don’t mumble, and don’t dawdle. We don’t have all day.” Businesslike, brisk, slight smile for the reporters still trailing them.</p><p>	“I’m sorry about Rhett Butler.”</p><p>	Scarlett's face froze. Wade fussed in her arms. For once, she wasn’t angry, since she’d almost dropped him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>	“You just seemed very in love with him, was all. Nothing like...like you and Brent were.”</p><p>	Scarlett bit her lip. Maybe if she made herself get angry at Carreen, it would cancel out the block of cement in her chest. “You don’t know what love is. You’re thirteen.”</p><p>	“Do you know?”</p><p>	She blew a strand of hair out of her face and kept walking. “I don’t think anybody does.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't love this chapter. Maybe it's because I've never liked epilogues much? Who knows.<br/>There's about five hundred words left of this little story, in the form of a very short "afterword" (the AN on that chapter's probably going to end up being longer than the chapter itself).<br/>And Ashley's motivations aren't necessarily what Scarlett accuses him of--it didn't feel right to have him explain himself, since he never really does that in GWTW.<br/>Thank you so much for reading!! (If you're still here--I will always carry the guilt of Chapter 14 with me.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Epilogue II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Halfhearted cheers greeted her as she stepped onstage, her knee-length dress doing nothing to hide her slight limp or wobbly legs. The salty air whipped around her, causing the carefully arranged curls to fly into her face and her pale green frock to flutter around her legs. She brushed them back, welcoming the brief moment to collect herself.</p>
<p>	Scarlett took the flowers and plaque offered to her, smile as real as Belle Watling's red hair. Whoever had thought of victory tours deserved a slow death.</p>
<p>	The mayor gestured to the microphone, having finished his speech. She set her flowers and plaque down.</p>
<p>	“Thank you, District 4,” she said easily. “It’s an honor to be here.” Scarlett looked at the podium to her left. Two grieving parents and a boy that looked to be a few years older than her.</p>
<p>	Steeling herself, she glanced to the right.</p>
<p>	No one.</p>
<p>	Not even in death would his father claim him or acknowledge him publicly. Scarlett felt her face grow hot. The anger didn’t replace the dread and crushing sadness that stuck in her throat, but it helped her say her next words.</p>
<p>	“As many of you know, I allied with a tribute from your district. A Mr. Rhett Butler.” She searched the crowd, finally spotting a woman in tears, holding a toddler, standing next to a dark-haired man and a boy who could only be his son. She hesitated again. Even after having basically confessed her feelings for a man on national television, she didn't want to spill her guts to a bunch of strangers.</p>
<p>	“Rhett is the reason I stand here today. He is--was--the smartest man I ever knew.” No, no, no, no. The waterworks had arrived. Unsuccessfully stifling tears all of last night hadn’t dried up her tear ducts. Shit. </p>
<p>But she owed it to him to finish what she’d started. Scarlett took a deep breath and continued.</p>
<p>	“He partnered with me when no one else would take the chance. He saved me countless times. He...he didn’t ask me to do the same.” She sniffled. Six months had done nothing to ease the ache in her chest. “And I should have. I should have done the same...I wish I had been able to save him. Rhett deserved better than what I gave him, and he deserved better than what you all gave him.</p>
<p>	“He wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t pretend to be. He should be here, making a perfunctory speech he doesn’t want to make and insulting everyone gathered here today three times over without them catching on till five minutes later.” Scarlett wiped her nose. “Despite what he said, I know he loved it here, and I know he loved his family.</p>
<p>	“I know his death has been felt very deeply by all those who knew him, including myself.” Rhett would forgive her for the lie. Scarlett tried her best to breathe. Her shoulders shook, and practically every word had been interrupted by a choked gasp, but Rhett deserved something more. What that was Scarlett didn't exactly know, but no one else was going to give it to him. “Thank you all very much,” she whispered.</p>
<p>	The people of District 4 clapped with even less energy than before, and the mayor stepped up to the podium once more. Scarlett set her shoulders and arranged her face into a calm mask. At least no actual tears had fallen, though her eyes were positively shining.</p>
<p>As the mayor droned on, Scarlett stared at little Rosemary Butler, listless. Would she grow up with Rhett's presence just behind her, as Scarlett had lived the past six months? Or would she forget about her eldest brother entirely? Scarlett didn't want to know the answer to that.</p>
<p>	One of these days, she’d remember Rhett fondly, how one remembers an old, long-deceased relative. No sharp ache in her heart.

</p>
<p> One of these days, she’d move on.</p>
<p>	Those days could wait forever, as far as Scarlett was concerned.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I could write about Scarlett recovering from her loss, her and Melanie's friendship, her reunion with Suellen, even next year's Hunger Games, but I think this is the right place to end.<br/>There is an alternate, much longer epilogue, but I think this stays true to the spirit of THG better.<br/>Thank you for taking the chance on this fic, for sticking with me (especially when I straight up didn't update for a month) and reading something very out of place in the GWTW fanfiction world. I didn't expect anyone to read it, much less enjoy it. You've all been so kind to me. Much love to you all, stay healthy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>